


Sawney

by Vizhi0n



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Multi, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-02-04 13:04:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 45
Words: 91,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12771678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vizhi0n/pseuds/Vizhi0n
Summary: Death is a journey





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> BACK ON MAH BULLSHIT 
> 
> Anyway, this is a random Negan fic that I a’thunked up at like 1am. It starts about a month before Rick and co. discover the Saviors, and will (possibly idk yet) go through the entirety of AOW. I’m still unsure of what the final pairing will end up being, but it heavily features Simon, Negan, and Arat. So yeah. 
> 
> Warnings: nothing for this chapter, but I will say that this fic is REALLY REALLY REALLLLLLY DARK. (everything from cannibalism to incest to rape/non con, torture, gore, and copious amounts of smut. All the fun stuff, ya know?) I'll do my best to really be specific when something extreme comes up in each chapter.

_“I need you to tell me exactly how you fucking got here.”_

_Say nothing. Do nothing._

Desa hadn’t meant to veer off track. She’d left the Estate on foot, intending to grab a few supplies before returning. A large group of biters had ambushed her, driving her deep into the woods. From there she’d kept walking, and walking, and walking, until she hit asphalt.

Then she walked even more.

She’d gathered a bag full of canned foods, some ammo, seeds for planting, and cooking supplies. It was enough — more than she usually stumbled across while scavenging. Never before had she encountered something she considered “seriously life threatening” — save for a few heavy-set biters that just didn’t want to die — much less any other survivors. Scavengers were forbidden to interact with anyone outside the Estate, and if anything other than a biter were to approach…

_Shoot on sight. Stab. Maim._

Desa had done just that. She’d slit a man’s throat. Stabbed a woman seven times and left her to die. She’d left their bodies to turn and rot.

_“I’m not allowed to talk to you.”_

_“Not fucking ‘allowed’? Who the fuck told you that?”_

After gathering enough supplies, Desa had backtracked, attempting to find her way back to the Estate. She wasn’t as great of a navigator as some of the others. She relied heavily on maps and tree markers. But this time, the group of biters had pushed her too far. There were no tree markers in sight, just overgrown bushes and abandoned cars. The expanse continued until it opened up, revealing a building Desa had never seen before. And it was  _alive_.

She could see the guards perched atop the balcony of the massive, humming factory. Another was down by the gate. And, chained to the fence like cattle, were biters. Dozens of them, some impaled on spikes, others legless and lying, reaching grubby, grimy arms at nothing.

Instincts had told her to ignore the place, leave it be and report it back. But curiosity won over and she’d ending up creeping along the edge of the trees, weaseling her way past the guards. The perimeter fence had a slight gap, and she’d managed to slide through with ease.

_“You fucking stabbed one of my men. He’s in the fucking infirmary now because of you. So don’t think for one goddamn second that I’m going to let you off easy.”_

She’d been caught snooping around storage, in the middle of stuffing her bag with food. A deep shout, followed by pounding feet had been her cue to run. She had, but not fast enough. There had been no time to learn the layout of this new community, and without ease, the man had cornered her. The moment he’d attempted to lay a hand on her, she’d drawn her knife, slashing away like a madwoman until she felt the blade sink deep into flesh.

Reinforcements had arrived shortly after. She’d been tackled, spat on, kicked and punched, before being dragged across the concrete and into the depths of the building. The injured man was carried off in the opposite direction, blood gushing from the jagged line of sliced, marred flesh right beneath his ribcage.

And now Desa sat, exposed and tied with her hands behind her back, weaponless, before the leader. He was a handsome man, tall and imposing with a seemingly permanent smile on his rugged face. It wasn’t a genuine smile. In fact, it made Desa  _uneasy_ the more she looked at it. Even more so than the barbed bat he had leaning against his chair.

“Still not going to say shit?”

“I’m not allowed to talk to you.”

“So you’re a fucking broken record. Or is that all you know how to fucking say?” the man sighed, easing back into his seat. One gloved hand came up to run down his face. “ _Shit_. At least tell me your name.”

Desa gambled. Weighed her options. She had no doubt that this man was capable of killing her slowly, painfully. Possibly just as slowly and painfully as those back at the Estate.

“Desa.”

“That’s your fucking name? Desa?” the man raised his eyebrows. “That’s a fucking weird ass name. Well, Desa, I’m Negan. It’s a fucking goddamn  _pleasure_  to make your acquaintance.”

“Ne-gan,” Desa tested the name on her tongue, before clamping her mouth shut before she said something she’d regret. A million comments were swirling through her head, none of which were remotely friendly. After a long pause, she added, “I need to leave. You can take your stuff back. The stuff that I took.”

“I don’t know what the _fuck_  you’re on, but you’re not going anywhere,” Negan growled. “Not until I find out where you came from, and who you are exactly. You’re going to fucking tell me everything,  _Desa_.”

“I can’t do that.”

“ _Nothing_? Do you have a group?” Negan’s face fell, and he stared, quizzical. “Are you…fucking settled somewhere?”

“My people don’t want any sort of diplomatic relations.”

“Better off alone, huh?”

“Yes. Not my policy but…it’s worked out for us.”

“Doesn’t seem to be fucking working out for _you_. If you want to be left the fuck alone, you shouldn’t have poked your nose where it didn’t belong,” Negan licked his lips, raising his bat to rest against his shoulder. “Listen, I’ll forgive your past fucking transgressions if you answer my questions. _Honestly_. No bullshitting, no swinging our dicks around like a bunch of immature fucking schoolboys. You can do that, right, Desa?”

“Will you untie me if I cooperate?”

“ _Fuck_  no. Not until I know you won’t try and fucking rip my throat out. I saw how you jumped on Gavin like that, and I’ll be the first to admit that it got my fucking dick hard as a rock. But I’m not taking any chances here.”

“You are afraid of me?”

“I’m not  _afraid_ , but I’m also not fucking  _stupid_. You’re alive right now because I stopped Simon blowing your brains out the back of your head. He really, _really_ wanted to pull that fucking trigger, and if you spout any more bullshit, I’ll  _indulge_  him.”

Desa cringed, lowering his gaze to the floor. When she lifted her eyes, the end of Negan’s bat was pointed inches from her nose. He snarled, “Now, let’s start again. Where’s your group?”

“We live at the Estate. It’s about two hours from here. It used to belong to some rich asshole before the end of the world.”

“What’s it like?”

“I’d like to keep that private.”

“ _What_? You have some big, fucking secret you need to keep under wraps?” Negan snorted. “Remember what I said about bullshitting? Who sent you out scavenging. Who’s your leader?”

“There are two.”

Negan raised his eyebrows.

Desa said shakily, “Mother and Father. They own the house. They own me.”

Negan leaned back, lowering his bat. Long, dexterous fingers drummed against his thigh as he contemplated what to say. There was no reading his expressions. There was just that goddamn mischievous smile, and Desa _hated_  it.

“Well write me down as fucking intrigued. You said it was about two hours from here?”

“By car, yes.”

“Fuckin’ _A_ ,” Negan stood, towering over Desa like a shadowy demon. “Because you’re going to take me there.  _Now_.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Do it. It’s what Mother and Father instructed you to do. You sacrifice for the greater good of the group — your life isn’t any better than the common man’s. Everyone dies, eventually._

Desa had no weapon. The only real option was to do something rash so that Negan or his henchmen Simon would be forced to kill her.

When all else failed, you were to choose death. Those were Mother and Father’s words, their rules. But Desa couldn’t bring herself to obey them. Not while she was under Negan’s cold, scrutinizing gaze. It was as if he’d seen right through her from the start. The entire time they loaded up the trucks, Negan kept an eye on her, even when they began driving. Simon was in the front seat, hands on the steering wheel, while Negan had insisted that he sit next to Desa. She hadn’t objected — it wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. She didn’t like Negan being so close to her. She didn’t like anybody being so close to her.

“You said some rich asshole owned the house before?” Negan, his baseball bat resting in his lap, grinned. “Is there a pool? Maybe a jacuzzi or some shit like that?”

“Yes, but it’s empty.”

Negan huffed, looking disappointed but not surprised. He ran a gloved finger over the handle of the bat, murmuring, “Lucille doesn’t fucking like water, anyway.” 

Desa winced, eyes flickering towards the baseball bat. The way Negan was stroking it, staring down at the object almost lovingly, sent very, very odd vibes coursing throughout her entire body.

“You n _amed_ that thing?”

“Fuck yeah I did.  _Lucille_. Sorry for not properly introducing her to you earlier,” Negan winked. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

“…I guess.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. You’re awfully fucking shy, girl,” Negan clapped his hands together, and Desa jumped in alarm. “Loosen the fuck up! You’re still alive, aren’t you? That’s always something to smile about.”

“You’re optimistic.”

“I have to fucking be. Can’t be moping around all depressed and shit.” Negan replied. “It doesn’t fly. Not at fucking all.”

The car slowed, and Desa lifted her head. She saw Simon turned and smile back at her, pointing with his free hand at the massive, multi-million dollar mansion before them.

“I’m guessing this is it?”

Negan gave a whistle of appraisal. “Holy  _shit_.”

The caravan came to a full stop. Desa couldn’t help the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, though it wasn’t caused by fear. It was caused by realization. The courtyard was empty, and she saw none of the guards. Mother and Father were typically out lounging in the sun, enjoying the fresh air.

Negan strolled right up to the wrought iron gate surrounding the perimeter of the mansion. About a dozen saviors stood, all armed and prepared to fire at a moments notice. Simon kept a firm grip on Desa, nails digging into her skin.

Negan wrapped a hand around the reinforced gate and shook it. The gate rattled, but did not budge. The noise was loud enough that someone had to have heard it.

Desa kept her head down. She didn’t want to give anything away. Not when the situation was so dire.

“Nobody’s home?” Negan glanced back at Desa, then at Simon. “Shit. Guess we should have fucking called first. You sure this is the right place?”

“It is,” Desa answered.

“You know what happens if you fucking lie to me?” Negan pointed his bat — Lucille — at Desa, letting it linger. “There are — were — a lot of rich assholes before the world went to shit. This could be anyones place.”

“Those fences are reinforced to keep the biters out. The grass is cut. Hell, there’s a garden growing,” Desa mumbled. “This is it.”

“Then where the fuck, pray tell, is everyone?”

“I don’t know.”

Negan rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Desa could see him contemplating what to do — she was amazed he hadn’t just gone ahead and slaughtered her. His men were on a hair trigger, ready to fire. Shuffling from the woods caught everyones attention, most expecting it to be the residents of the Estate emerging from hiding.

It wasn’t.

“Take care of those,” Negan gestured to Simon and a few others. The biters shuffled from the underbrush, teeth snapping, gnawing on air. Simon went to make a movie but stopped, hand clutching the hilt of the knife in his belt.

That’s a lot of biters. A lot.

They came in a shuffling mass. The explosion of gunfire was deafening. Desa winced, letting out a cry and a Savior became victim to gnashing teeth.

“Negan, we need to go,” Simon called. “Before we’re overwhelmed—”

“I fucking _see_  that, dipshit — grab the—”

Desa made a split second decision. In the back of her mind she recognized the sheer stupidity of her actions, but she didn’t have time to sketch out a well detailed plan. She just needed to get away and, if possible, drag Negan with her.

_You know the protocol._

The moment Negan approached she reared back and kneed him in the crotch, hard. He grunted, and she saw Simon spin and raise his weapon. Before he could fire a shot and before Negan could fully grasp her actions, she wrenched Lucille away. Negan seemed more distressed at the loss of his bat than the potential injury Desa had caused to his nether regions.

_That’s telling._

She ran like a bat out of hell. Bullets whizzed past her ears and she burst into the woods, hearing Negan’s frantic voice peppered with insults. The dense trees masked the sound of gunfire and screaming saviors, reducing it to a thrum.

Desa ran, arms pumping, Lucille clutched in her hand. She didn’t dare slow — she was smaller than Negan, faster, but she could hear him barreling through the forest after her like a raging bull. He was being carried by sheer rage and Desa was being carried by fear and determination. Both cancelled each other out.

After what seemed like eternity, when the sound of gunfire was only a light disturbance in the distance, Desa stopped and spun. A moment later Negan burst through the brush, face streaked with blood.

He’d drawn his knife — the thing was as long as Desa’s forearm. His composure hadn’t broken, and he still held that arrogant swagger. Except for now, he wasn’t being humorous or mocking. He was legitimately mad.

_It’s a bat. Why does he care so much?_

“That was a  _bad_  fucking move.”

“I know. Doesn’t mean I regret it,” Desa panted. “And I’m not going to regret this, either.” 

A dark shape dropped from the trees above. Negan slashed at the masked figure, knife scraping through flesh. Both men went down in a tangle of limbs.

A groan prompted Desa to turn. A dead face with rotting teeth groped for her throat. With a cry of alarm she shouldered the biter, but the thing was far to big for her to move alone.

 _Shit. Shit, shit_ —

Negan and his attacker wrestled on the ground, both struggling for the bowie knife. Desa didn’t have time to observe or intervene. Her fingers curled tight around Lucille and she swung, bashing biters head in with a vicious cry.

The thing toppled. She lunged to assist in restraining Negan, but he’d already been rendered unconscious.

The masked figure stood, removing the bandana from around his mouth.

“That went well.”

“Is everyone okay? Is Jack okay?”

“Yeah,” Mason replied. It was good, seeing a familiar face. Especially one with a permanent smile. “Everyone’s fine. We’ve never had to use the sewer before, so it was a hassle getting everyone down there. Especially the kids.”

_Especially Jack._

Desa’s brother hated smaller, smelly spaces. Despite the fact that she’d assisted countless others in making the tunnels as habitable as possible, the constant, raunchy odor would probably never go away.

“What are we doing with him?”

Mason glanced down at Negan’s unconscious form. For once, they’d break their rule. Mother and Father would want to meet him, for sure.

“Taking him back. We’re all in the tunnels right now — as soon as those guys are gone, we can start moving everyone back in.” 

“Did you guys have enough time to get everyone out?”

“We had ten minutes.. Allison was the one who saw the caravan and radioed it in.” 

Desa nodded. She shot a glance down at Negan, glancing around before gesturing for Mason to help her life the much heavier man.

“Mother and Father will be so proud of us,” Mason practically salivated at the concept. Desa said nothing, keeping a firm grip on Negan’s ankles. ‘“They won’t be able to say that we didn’t work. They won’t.”

“They never say that we don’t work.”

“They’ve said it about me. I’ve overheard them,” Mason said. “I probably shouldn’t be repeating this, but I heard them one night say that—”

“Mason,  _please_  don’t.”

“I forget you’re not a gossiper.”

“I never have been.”

“I’ll keep quiet, then. Wouldn’t want to blab something out that I shouldn’t,” Mason chuckled, grunting as he heaved Negan upwards. They approached the entrance to the sewer, staring at the grated pipeline, overgrown with vines and poking from a hill in the ground. They only had to wait a brief moment — the on-duty guard revealed himself, peering between the bars.

“Is it safe to go back up?”

“Don’t know. We were busy with something else,” Desa jerked her chin down at Negan. “He’s the leader. And that caravan? That’s just the start.”

“Mother and Father have been anxious,” the man murmured. Desa could smell him from a yard away, and she suddenly had doubt about going into the concrete pipeline. “Mason, go back up and check if they’re gone. I want to get out of this hellhole as fast as possible. You, come with me.”

Mason nodded, bounding up the hill and out of sight. The sewer grate popped from its mooring and the man, whose named had escaped Desa, emerged and grasped hold of Negan, hoisting him up along with Desa’s assistance.

“Did Allison lure those walkers?”

“Of course she did. The little freak can practically command those things. I’d like a puff of whatever it is she’s smoking, but I’m scared I won’t come back the same.”

“If you want crazy, just wait until you meet  _this_  guy,” Desa shot a look at Negan as they hurried down the vacant, dim tunnel, feet splashing through the water. Desa could hear slight noises deeper within, and she beamed at the sounds of her people. “Just you wait.”


	3. Chapter 3

Desa rarely saw Mother and Father smile. The couple usually had a permanent grimace plastered across their faces. This was the first time, despite the circumstances, that Desa saw them both with a relatively satisfied, almost giddy look on their faces.

That was good. It meant that Desa had done her job. She’d worked hard.

She greeted Father first, as it was customary, closing her eyes and keeping still as he gingerly kissed her on the forehead. She nodded, and Mother was next, repeating the gesture.

“We strung him up in one of the storage closets, like you asked.”

Father made a noise in the back of his throat. Glancing between his wife and Desa, he replied, “I’ll see to him. Desa, he was your catch —  _you’ll_  receive the honor of helping me with him.”

“I…I saw his compound. His people. It’s huge and he has the firepower. More than we have. The people he brought with him today? That’s only a fraction.”

“You got inside?”

“I did,” Desa said, wincing as a foul odor flooded the dripping tunnels. She prayed that Mason would radio in that it was safe to ascend. “They’re functioning. And they’re  _dangerous_.”

“I’m not worried about that.” 

“Are…are you going to try and make a deal?” Desa asked hesitantly. She was crossing a line, she knew. It was a miracle that Father was even giving her the time of day.

“Go to the storage room and wait.”

_Of course he won’t answer._

“Yes, Father. May I check on Jack, first?”

“Yes. But do it quickly”

Desa hurried away, sweat beading on her brow. The sloshed further down the tunnel, finally reaching a dry patch of concrete. Ahead of her she could see chairs and tables, flickering lamps adorning their surfaces. She spotted Jack — he was in a circle with some other children.

“ _Jack_?” 

That cherub face stared back at Desa, and she couldn’t help but let out a sigh. She embraced her younger brother, squeezing his shoulder until he giggled and squirmed from her grip.

“I’m  _fine_. You don’t have to hold me so tight.”

“Sorry, buddy.”

“Is that man still here? That guy you brought in from the other place?” Jack asked curiously. “What’s he like?”

“He’s in holding. I don’t think we’re going to really do anything with him until Mason gives us the signal,” Desa replied softly. “I have to go over there now, alright? Father needs me to help him.” 

“Help him with  _what_? Father _never_  needs help.”

“I caught that guy, so Father thinks it’s fair that I…do whatever it is he wants me to do,” Desa couldn’t help but wince. She had a bubbling, uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t at all enthusiastic to participate in Fathers activities, but she knew the consequences if she said no. They weren’t worth it.

“I hope we can leave soon. This place  _smells_.”

“It used to be where everyone’s poop would go. And piss,” The group of kids, including Jack, made a collective, exaggerated noise of disgust. Desa chuckled, adding, “So, yeah. Don’t go wandering around in it.” 

She hugged Jack again. Told him to stay out of trouble — which, she knew, he wouldn’t — and headed to the storage area. The room was wide and, before, had been used to store maintenance supplies. Now it had been cleared out and acted as a makeshift playpen for Father.

_“Playpen” is a pretty loose term…_

Negan had been strung up against the wall, arms stretched, wrist bound by rope. He was conscious, not speaking or cursing. Just glaring. The mocking, almost silly visage had disappeared.

Desa was alone with him. Father had yet to arrive. All she could do was stare, unsure of what to say.

_If I run and grab Jack, I can get a head start. They won’t catch me._

_Yeah. But you’ll be homeless. No food. Jack is naive — he can’t fight. He hasn’t even killed a biter yet._

She approached Negan hesitantly, going slow and methodical, unnerved by how his eyes seemed to follow her like a hawk. After what seemed like a thousand years, he spoke.

“Am I the only fucking one here? Do you have Simon and Dwight, too?”

“N-no,” Desa stammered. “You’re the only one. I don’t know what happened to everyone else—”

“ _Good_. Now what the _fuck_ are you going to do to me?”

“Introduce you to Father,” Desa said. “Maybe…maybe talk things out.”

“There’s nothing we have that you would fucking want. You said it yourself. I mean, hell, I’m willing to sit the fuck down and sketch out some deal but from what you told me,” Negan eased forward, ginning. “That ain’t going to  _fucking_  happen.” 

_It’s not._

“It can if you cooperate.”

“I don’t really have a fucking choice, do I?”

Desa heard the heavy door swing open. Father’s footsteps echoed around the room and he stopped, close, so close to Desa that she could partly feel his breath against the side of her neck.

Desa dipped her head and stepped to the side. She kept it lowered while Father spoke, unwilling to make eye contact with Negan.

“You are… _handsome_ ,” Father clicked his tongue. “Sturdy. A bit aged but…overall, a satisfactory catch.”

“Am I supposed to be fucking  _flattered_? Because I am,” Negan whistled. “Hey, Desa, did you string me up just to compliment me?”

Desa didn’t reply. Instead Father answered, “That’s only the first part. Next is the difficult section — the transfiguration of the mind and, if you’re willing, the body. And you  _will_  bewilling. Desa, cut open his shirt.”

She obeyed. With shaking fingers she gripped her knife, stepping forward as Negan stared down at her.

_Three deep breaths._

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

She cut away at the thin material. An abdomen peppered with hair and weathered tattoos stared back at her. She was so, so glad she couldn’t see Negan’s eyes. The cloth fell to the floor in tatters, leaving Negan’s torso bare.

“Good,” Father murmured. He thought for a few moments, before gesturing for the knife. Very slowly Desa handed it to him. He looked it over before sheathing it, stepping closer to Negan. They were the same height, same build…same age, probably, though Father was never one to admit his age or talk about himself.

While they certainly weren’t carbon copies, they were similar. Almost  _too_  similar, and it was _bothering_  Father. Each twitch, each quirk of Father’s lips communicated that to Desa loudly and clearly.

“I can smell the sweat on you. The blood. You kill often?”

Negan tilted his chin, trying to make himself seem taller. He growled, “Fuck yeah, I do.”

“I want to taste it.”

Desa was forced to watch as Father licked a stripe from Negan’s navel to his collarbone. At the touch of Father’s tongue to his clammy skin Negan lurched back, perturbed.

When Father pulled away, flecks of crimson adorned his lips. Desa clenched her fist to stop her hands from shaking, hearing Father murmur to himself before addressing Desa directly.

“Go grab the tools. The torch and the pliers, please.”

Desa didn’t move. Father raised his eyebrows, the sneer on his face enough to snap Desa out of her trance. She shuffled towards the cabinets, legs seemingly moving on their own accord. Negan was watching her yet again — she could feel his caustic gaze on her. She yanked open the drawer, retrieving the requested items.

She handed them to Father. Kept her head down.

_I need to leave. I can’t watch._

“Father?”

“Yes?”

Desa gulped. She felt woozy, light headed. The sharp burst of blue fire from the blowtorch seemed brighter than it probably was.

_It’s just your mind playing tricks. You’ve seen this before. You’ve seen—_

“Jack. He…he needs me. He’s scared.”

“Are you asking to leave?”

“I can check on Jack and then go help Mason. He’s out there by himself. I’m sure you don’t need me for this,” Desa croaked. “I—”

“If you want to work,  _this_  is work. Get out if you can’t handle it.”

Desa’s eyes lingered on Negan an extra moment. He didn’t look angry — in fact, she could see a hint of something else in his dark eyes. Even when strung up and stripped practically naked, he was attempting to appear prideful.

_Don’t pity me, Negan, pity yourself._

Desa spun on her heels and left, bile rising in her throat as she heard the sound of the blowtorch once more. The moment the iron door closed behind her she stumbled, emptying her stomach onto the slick sewer floor. Salty tears dripped from her eyes, past her quivering lips.

A muffled, deep scream filtered from beneath the door.

Desa stood up straight. Nobody could see her crying. That type of behavior was frowned upon, especially by Mother and Father.

She wiped her hands on her jeans, making her way down the sewer tunnels. Negan’s screams were distant, no longer bouncing off the walls like some sort of sick staccato. Not hearing it allowed her to push it away, to ignore it.

Father always did this. Negan wasn’t any different — he’d come out stronger. Better. Desa  _had_  to believe that. The man was intimidating, worth something. He wouldn’t end up in the cellar with the others.

Jack was no longer with his friends. Instead, he was with Mother, standing next to the woman’s chair. The nauseous feeling returned the moment Desa saw Mother’s hand stroking Jack’s hair, rhythmically and slowly.

Desa spoke first. “Father is still with… _him_.”

“I know. It won’t be very long until we can leave this disgusting place,” Mother wrinkled her nose. “You have vomit on your clothes. Does the stench affect you that badly?”

“Yes,” Desa said quickly, glancing down at her jacket. “It does. I don’t like it here either.”

“Mason better hurry, then,” Mother stopped stroking Jack’s hair. She smiled, murmuring to herself and shaking her head. Then she stood, hiking up her dress so not to get it dirty. “When we return to the Estate, you will join Father and I in the bedroom. A reward for your hard work today.”

_Oh, no._

“I don’t need a reward. I do this because I care about you and Father and everyone else,” Desa said slowly, aware that Jack was watching with wide eyes. “I don’t  _need_ a reward.”

“If you care about us, you will satisfy us. Both of us. When we return you  _will_ join us.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good. And you, Jack,” Mother turned, giving a genuine smile. “It’s your birthday soon, isn’t it?”

“Yes ma’am,” Jack replied with just a  _bit_ more enthusiasm.

“I have plenty of candy for the occasion. All of it yours.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

“I always look after my children.”

She left, headed towards the storage area. Desa listened hard, but found she could no longer hear Negan. Perhaps he’d died. Perhaps Father had gotten bored and simply killed Negan. Desa didn’t want to think about it, so she didn’t.

So she sat down, arm wrapped around Jack’s shoulder, and sang.

_“City’s breaking down on a camel’s back, they just have to go ‘cause they don’t know whack…”_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we’re getting into the fucked up shit, so pls read the warnings From here on out its gonna be bad. So yeah. In honor TWD night heres the next chapter.

“We’re heading back up in twenty. Everyone grab your things.”

Mason was giving the orders. The huddled group of survivors — just under thirty of them — obeyed. They moved past Desa and Jack in waves, keeping their voices down as they headed down the tunnels and towards the Estate. 

_Go with them._

The people were indifferent to Negan’s screams. They kept their heads down, covering the ears of the children. 

“Jack,” Desa gripped her brothers hand. The smaller boy stared up at her in confusion, looking anxious. “Go find your friends, alright? Stay close to them.”

“I want to come with you—”

“No, you don’t. Trust me. I’m going to see if I can help Father,” Desa said firmly. “That man was my catch, so he’s my responsibility.”

Jack’s lower lip quivered, but he didn’t object. Desa ruffled his hair, watching him dart after the group. The sewer had filtered out, the sound of multiple footsteps getting softer and softer. Desa knelt over, hands on her knees as she attempted to steady her breathing before making her way towards the storage room, heart pounding. Negan’s screams had tinkered away into whimpers, and she had to mentally prepare herself before opening the door.

The room reeked of urine. She immediately saw the wet patch on the front of Negan’s pants — he’d peed himself. The blackened, oozing marks on his bare torso were clear evidence of what had happened. The pliers were in Father’s hand and Desa could see the blood and the strips of flesh, shriveled from the heat of the blowtorch. Negan was still strung up, and he was twitching, thrashing was a wild animal against his restraints.

While Father just _watched._

“ _Father_?” Desa croaked. She stood at attention, trying not to give anything away. As calmly and evenly as possible she said, “Would like me to assist you in moving him?”

“No. He’s staying down here,” Father replied. “The cellar is almost full, and he hasn’t…he hasn’t transformed yet. He’s not  _ready_.”

“Father—”

He was ignoring her. Clicking those bloody pliers together while contemplating his next trick. Desa steeled herself, speaking louder.

“Father, I know that you and Mother both are against any sort of negotiation with outside groups but…we have leverage, here. But  _only_  if he remains alive.”

The pliers stopped clicking. 

Negan lifted his head. Desa saw him glare daggers at the man before him, teeth bared in a silent, pained growl. 

_Leave, Desa, leave. You stupid, stupid fool._

“What do you suggest?”

 “Keep him here, just as you suggested. But keep him stable. His community — the Saviors — they know where the Estate is. But they don’t know about this place.”

“If you wish to keep your toy alive,  _you_  will have to tend to him. He is  _your_  catch,” Father rolled his eyes, backing away. “I will speak to Mother regarding…negotiations.”

Desa let out a small sigh. Father placed the pliers back in he cabinet, grabbing a dirty hand towel and wiping himself off. 

Negan’s belt was on the floor, his fly open. He was still hanging there, bleeding, body in a state of suspended shock. Desa moved slowly, adjusting his restraints to that he could sit on his knees, arms spread. He said nothing to her, just stared at the wall, jaw slack. 

“Did Mother invite you to our bedroom?”

“Yes,” Desa replied softly, tightening Negan’s bonds. Father came to a stop behind her, arms crossed over his chest.

“And are you joining us?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Exactly. Mother and I provide for you,” he knelt. Desa felt his hand glide across his shoulder. “And we provide for everyone here. Everyone has basic needs. Copulation is one of them.”

Desa’s eyes shifted towards Negan’s pants. She felt the urge to snap at Father.

_Did you fuck Negan before or after he pissed himself?_

“Yes, sir. It is.”

“Good. I’ll see you tonight.”

He left, wiping off whatever blood remained on his pants. The iron door swung shut and Desa dipped her head, gnawing furiously on her lower lip as she knelt before Negan’s battered frame. 

“Fuck you,” Negan spat. 

“I just bought you time. He would have killed you or put you in the cellar. And if you were in the cellar, _I_ would have killed you. Put you out of your misery.”

“So fucking  _generous_ ,” Negan’s tongue looked swollen, and he was having trouble even speaking. “We have  _very_  different fucking ideas of what that word means.”

“I’m not supposed to be generous. I’m not  _allowed,”_ Desa cringed. “If I could give you more, I would.”

“Why?”

“Why would I give you more? I don’t know. Maybe I’m just in a giving mood lately. Maybe…I feel bad for you. I feel bad for them all. But I don’t do anything. All the death and torture, it’s on me. Because I didn’t do anything. But I am now — I’m going to try.”

“You can start by putting a bullet through that sick fucks head,” Negan spat. “Kill him, problem solved.”

“If I kill him, my little brother will be next. Listen, Negan, I’ll do what I can for you. I will. I swear. But not on my brothers life. I can’t.”

“How old is he? Your brother?”

“Eleven. He’ll be twelve next week. We think.”

“Is he your only sibling?”

Desa ducked her head, glancing around. The silence hung heavy, a palpable blanket spread across the entire room. Finally, Desa said softly, “No. It was…me, him, and my older sister. Sister went first. Dad put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger because he was a coward. Mom…she kept us together for a while. But things happen. People have agendas. She’s a corpse somewhere.”

“Shit. Sounds rough,” Negan let out a breath. “I don’t want to even fucking know how you stumbled across this group.”

“I didn’t. They found me.”

Negan shrugged, rattling his restraints. Desa did her best to end the conversation, standing. She stared at him, gnawing on her lower lip.

“I’ll get water. And something for you to eat.”

“You’re on duty, now?”

“You’re my catch. I found you, so I have to deal with you. It’s supposed to be a good thing,” Desa shrugged. “Rules of the house.”

“You ever thought about packing up and  _leaving_  the fucking house?”

“Plenty. But I am my fathers daughter — a coward.”

* * *

The moment everyone was settled, it was back to work.

Nothing had been damaged — the reinforced fences were still standing. The toy train set Jack had been working on had been left untouched, right where it had been left. Everything was the same. Or, at least, they were pretending it was.

The uneasy feeling in Desa’s stomach had yet to leave. It would stay, she reckoned, until Negan was out of her life for good.

The Saviors had scattered, displaced by the sudden ambush of biters. Desa had overheard Amy state that she and some others had confiscated the few cars that had been left behind. It would take a while for the surviving Saviors to get their bearings and come back with even more firepower than before. And it would take even longer, Desa suspected, without Negan.

_We have time._

The day droned on, and Desa found herself getting into the same routine as always, with a few alterations. She’d patrol the fence, awaiting a scavenging order while, in her spare time, she’d go and check on Negan. She make sure his wounds remained uninfected, and she’d dump the waste bucket placed between his legs. A majority of the time he wasn’t awake, or he just refused to speak and instead stared her down. 

“I won’t be back until later tonight,” Desa informed him. She was dressed in the proper attire, the clothes hidden beneath the heavy jacket she wore. One always had to get dolled up and pretty when presenting themselves in Mother and Father’s bedroom. It was more of a custom than a requirement. 

“You got a hot fucking date?” 

“No,” Desa replied quickly, surprised that he’d even answered her. His hair was slick with sweat, rivulets rolling down his bare chest. Each word he spoke was laced with pain. 

“I’ll really fucking miss your company. Shit keeps me sane,” Negan licked his lips. “Why don’t you skip out on whatever dumb shit you have to do—”

“I can’t. I have to go please Mother and Father,” Desa shivered, looking away. “I wish I could. You’re better company than both of them.”

“What do you mean ‘please’ them?”

“What do you think I mean?”

“Are you talking about  _fucking_? Because you better not be talking about fucking,” Negan tugged at his restraints, baring his teeth. 

“I am. I don’t want it, but…I have an obligation. I can’t disobey them or else Jack’s head will end up on a pike, or worse, in the cellar.”

“What’s so fucking bad about the cellar?” Negan leaned forward. “Fuckin’  _enlighten_  me.” 

“It’s where the bad people go. They don’t die, they just… _change_. They stay down there until they’re needed again.”

“Is that where I was going to fucking go?”

“Yeah. Probably. If Father doesn’t accidentally kill you, first.”

Negan let out a sigh, murmuring a few curses to himself. “I’m going to kill that fucker when I get out of here. Hey — is Lucille somewhere safe?”

“The bat? Yeah. Father put it somewhere. Probably in storage.”

“If you see her tonight, use her. Take her and bash that fuckers skull in.”

“Tempting. But I already told you why I won’t,” Desa stood, wrapping her jacket tighter around herself. 

“Fine. Fucking fine. If you won’t, I fucking will. And I mean that shit. When I get out of here I’m going to kill every single one of them. I might just kill you, too. I’m not fucking dying in here. I’m fucking  _not_.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: RAPE AND GORE. LIKE…BAD.

_“This is your reward. Take it and be grateful.”_

Desa was vomiting for a second time. Hunched over in the bushes, emptying her stomach. Father’s fingers had left bruises on her breasts and neck. She could still feel his release trickling from her. They hadn’t even let her come. She didn’t get that luxury. Neither did the other four people in the room with her, all of whom were being rewarded. Some of them got off on it, others didn’t.  _Desa_  didn’t. 

She’d planned on going to Negan, but she couldn’t. Her legs wouldn’t work right. She could only lay in the grass, desperately trying to regain her breath. She turned when she heard footsteps, whipping her head to the side in fear that the person was Jack. He didn’t need to see her like this. 

It was Mason. His cheery disposition from earlier was gone. He was scowling, though it was a patronizing, almost mocking scowl. 

“Have fun in there?”

“Did  _you_?” Desa nodding towards the fly of his pants — his zipper was down. “Mason, please go way. I’m not in the mood right now.”

“I can tell. That’s why I’m messing with you. Lighten up,” Mason rolled his eyes. “Go tend to your catch. He probably pissed himself again — oh, _yeah_ , I heard all about that. Father likes to brag, and he brags to  _me_.”

“Ain’t you special.”

“ _Careful_. All that backtalk just might get you sent downstairs,” Mason grinned even wider. “Not that I’d ever tell Father that I saw you getting all cozy with what’S-his-face.”

“Negan,” Desa murmured. 

“You’re on a first name basis with him? That’s  _telling_ ,” Mason leered. “Listen, I’m kidding, alright?  _Kidding_. You do your job and I do mine.”

“Sure,” Desa nodded slowly. “And speaking of jobs—”

“You have to go see him, don’t you? You look stressed. Why don’t _I_  deal with him tonight, let you get some rest,” Mason shrugged. “I don’t mind cleaning up shit for someone I care about.”

“I’m fine, Mason. I can do it on my own. I’m not even seeing him tonight,” Desa scratched the back of her neck. She glanced over Mason’s shoulder, at the wide crevice where the pool was once located. She remembered Negan’s words. 

_Lucille._

Desa had no doubt that the barbed bat was down there somewhere, waiting to be distributed to whomever earned it. By all intents and purposes it should have been hers. Negan was  _her_  catch. 

_He’s also your way out of here._

“I have to go, Mason,” Desa murmured. She began heading towards the pool, aware that Mason was watching her. When she finally felt it safe, she looked behind and saw no sign of Mason. He’d lost interest, leaving the area pretty much clear. 

Desa hopped lightly down the pool steps, creeping across the concrete. Crates and boxes were stacked in the deep end, some covered with a tarp, others left bare. She spotted Lucille immediately — the bat was uncovered, handle poking from one of the bins. With shaky legs, Desa hurried over. 

She freed Lucille with a few tugs, testing the weight of the bat in her hand as she maneuvered through the maze of stacked boxes and discarded debris. She only stopped when she heard footsteps approach from the right side, remaining frozen in place. 

Father  _whistled._

He, like Desa, looked thoroughly fucked. But he’d enjoyed it. That post-sex, hazy smile was still on his face, sweat cooling against his skin. Desa grit her teeth but stayed still as he walked up to her, stopping just short of a foot. 

She would be punished for stealing. 

So she stood and awaited it.

“You could have _asked_ ,” Father said languidly, nodding towards Lucille. “It’s a beautiful weapon, and its former owner was your catch. All you had to do was  _ask_ , yet you  _didn’t_.”

“I’m asking now.”

“ _Pardon_?”

“I’m asking  _now_ ,” Desa said shakily. “I-I’m a- _asking_ you n-now. Can I have it?”

Father remained silent for a beat. Then, letting out air through his nose, he said, “ _Yes_. But you still attempted to steal. You did not consult me first — you  _always_  consult me or Mother, first. You  _know_  that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m disappointed,” Father was an inch away, now. Desa kept her head ducked, unable to bear the thought of meeting those bright blue eyes that she saw in her nightmares. She felt his calloused hand wrap around her wrist as he murmured, “You know better than this. I’m going to have to punish you.”

“Father—”

“Get on your knees.”

_No. No, no, no—_

“Father, please. No. No—”

“Get on your knees, or else Jack will find himself in the cellar. On your knees, now.  _Accept_  your punishment.  _Accept_  your wrongdoings. Better yourself.”

Desa sunk to his knees, lips kissed by her own salty tears. 

_“A good Father always disciplines his children.”_

* * *

 

_I have blood on my nice pants._

That was Negan’s reality, now. It kept him sane. Worrying about such mundane, trivial things distracted him from the pounding agony in his head, and in his arms and legs and, well, everywhere. 

That girl, Desa, hadn’t arrived. She typically came three times a day with some sort of sustenance.  _Good_ sustenance — he wasn’t eating slop, yet. Even if it was out of an old dog bowl, it was still  _good_  to Negan. Probably because he’d learned to drastically lower his standards during the past few days.

Desa was sneaking in some extra snacks. Negan could tell because she’d look around, almost out of habit, before pulling a few extra morsels from her bag.

She didn’t once touch him. She didn’t once make a crude joke or shove her hands down his pants, or lick him, or…

_She’s not crazy like them. Yet._

His chains had been left slack, giving him room to rest his arms and lay slouched against the wall. He had no clue where his jacket was, and Father had destroyed his shirt. For now his bare skin was exposed to whatever elements were in this old, poorly maintained room. 

He thought about Simon. It hadn’t been long. Hadn’t even been three full days — if the troops were scattered, they’d have to regroup or try and head back to Sanctuary alone. Without a car. Some probably injured. 

Rescue would come. But not soon enough.

Negan was jolted from his thoughts by a smooth voice. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

“I’m thinking about how much I want to fucking strangle you.  _All_  of you,” Negan replied. “You’re not Desa.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I’m Mason. I’d shake your hand, but, uh…”

“I’m tied up. Funny fucking joke, asshole.  _Where’s_  Desa?” 

Mason came to a stop before Negan. The door shut with an audible clang, before tapering off and leaving them in silence. This guy was way,  _way_  too close. 

“Desa isn’t here. It’s just us.”

“Aren’t I fucking lucky. Tell me, what the _fuck_  do you want?”

“I like you. I like the way you operate — or the way you  _used_  to operate,” Mason crossed his arms over his chest. “You used to be something. I could tell. Now look at you.”

Negan said nothing. He glared as Mason continued to run his stupid little mouth  — Negan wished he could smack it right off his smug face. 

“Desa told us about your community. Pinpointed right where it was,” Mason spat. “So…we know. We know all about you. How many people you have, how your system works…”

“You don’t know  _shit_.”

“Desa mentioned names.  _Simon_. I saw him, when you came to attack us. Big dude with a mustache. Arat. Regina. Gavin. Dwight. Laura,” Mason pressed. He paused, cocking his head to the side. “How many of us can you name, other than Desa and I?”

Negan growled. “Mother and Father.”

“ _Obvious_ ,” Mason rolled his eyes. “Who has the upper hand, here?”

“Is this what you came to fucking tell me? That you have the upper fucking hand? Waste of my fucking time, you know that—”

The sole of Mason’s boot planted hard against Negan’s sternum, in a kick that surely broke his ribs. Negan wheezed, spittle running past his dry lips. With a flushed face, he mustered the strength and snarled at Mason. 

“Fuck you.”

“I’m kind of glad Father didn’t decide to put you in the cellar,” Mason rolled his shoulders, winding up for another hit. Negan barely felt the man as he cuffed him in the cheek, splitting his lip. Another kick to the chest had him hunched over, panting loudly, trying not to cry out in agony. He wouldn’t give Mason that satisfaction. 

Negan’s body was broken, weak and ten times frailer than it had been before his capture. Despite the fact that Negan dwarfed Mason in size, he was easily overpowered by the smaller man. Hands grappled at Negan, nails raking across his cheek and shoulders as Mason straddled him, keeping a knee planted against his injured chest. His hand wrapped tightly around Negan’s throat, squeezing the rough skin, hard. 

_Can’tbreathecan’tbreathecan’t—_

Mason leaned in close, breath wafting across Negan’s face. 

“I’m not going to  _touch_ you like Father did. I’m not like that. That’s not the type of touching I enjoy,” Mason breathed heavily, rummaging through his pocket while Negan watched. He smiled, flipping open a pocket knife. He held the blade with a trembling hand, easing the tip against the skin beneath Negan’s eye. A little pinprick, and Negan felt the small drop of blood fall down his cheek. 

“What the fuck are you going to do?”

“I’m taking your eyes. As a trophy. I’m giving them to Father,” Mason murmured. “That’s his favorite part of your body. He told me.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Negan croaked. It’s all he could muster. The pocketknife was hovering just an inch from his retina, the blade strikingly clear. And sharp. And coming  _closer_  —

_“Hey!”_

Mason turned. A sickening crack echoed throughout the room as Lucille’s barbed end connected with the side of his face. The sheer ferocity of the hit split his skull and, to Negan’s amusement, popped an eye from his socket and crushed Mason’s jaw to a paste. 

The body slouched, like a marionette with its strings cut. Ever so slowly, Negan felt Mason’s blood as it spread across the floor, brushing his fingertips. 

When he looked up he saw _Desa_. Standing over him like some avenging angel, Lucille in her hand. 

“I’m fucking  _extremely_  attracted to you right now,” Negan wheezed. He coughed, biting out a laugh. “Holy  _shit_.”

Desa didn’t look amused. In fact, she looked distressed, eyes trained on Mason’s corpse. In a small voice, she said, “I didn’t mean to kill him.”

“Well, you did,” Negan pushed himself against the wall, sitting up. “He’s _dead_ as  _shit_.”

Desa dropped Lucille, letting her clatter against the concrete. Negan made a noise in the back of his throat, ready to chastise her for just…dropping Lucille like she didn’t matter. He never got to it, because Desa was kneeling in front of him, close enough that he could smell the soft perfume she wore for some ludicrous reason. Her hands examined his torso, before moving to the tiny little cut beneath his eyes. The pad of her thumb wiped away the blood, and he could only watch as she sighed, ducking her head in embarrassment. 

“I’m…I’m sorry. I’m so _sorry_. I should have gotten here sooner. I brought you food,” she gestured behind her, to the bag discarded next to the door. “Shit. I didn’t know he was down here…he’s not supposed to be…”

“He doesn’t make for good fucking company. Not like you,” Negan grinned, hissing as his split lip stung. “I’m being flirty as fuck here because I don’t know what else to fucking say. Watching you swing Lucille got my dick  _hard._ ”

“What doesn’t get your dick hard?” Desa murmured. 

“Father,” Negan answered truthfully. Letting out a sigh, he said, “I’m all for some good dick. But that guy… _fuck_  no.”

“I didn’t know he—”

“He did. And it sucked,” Negan bit his lower lip, pushing those recent memories down. He could still feel the soreness — everywhere. Thinking about Father sent flashes of rage through his body. When he escaped, he’d be sure to hunt that demon like a bloodhound. Tear him limb from limb. 

“He fucks everyone. Literally and metaphorically,” Desa said, eyes tired. Those dark eyes, like Negan’s swirled with fatigue and faint distress. She finally sat on her hunched before Negan, legs crossed. “I don’t even think he and Mother were married before. Nobody knows.  _Nobody_  knows who they are.”

“Does it matter? None of us were the way we were before,” Negan replied. “Some of us are still fucking human inside. Some of us fucking aren’t.”

“Are you human, still?”

“ _Fuck_  no. I’ve done some bad, bad shit. I’ve made other people do bad shit. And I’ll take that shit to my grave.”

“So have I. I’m just as guilty. I did the bad shit Mother and Father told me to. I did it without thinking because I knew that if I didn’t, Jack would end up in that cellar. It’s not that I didn’t have a choice. I did. For all I know Jack would be better off in that cellar, because the minute we try and escape, he’s dead. He’s dead meat.”

Desa was crying. Negan hadn’t even realized the tears until he looked up. She had Lucille back in her hands and was shaking. 

“Maybe I should kill them.”

“Desa,” Negan said slowly. He didn’t like how she was holding Lucille. Her knuckles were turning pale. Her face was pale, dark skin clammy. He was sure she’d shatter her teeth from how hard she was gritting them. “Desa. Fucking calm down. Look at me.”

She did. Then, in a soft voice, grip on Lucille slacking, she said, “I need to go get Jack. I…they’ll kill me. They’ll kill him. An eye for an eye,” she jerked her chin towards Mason’s corpse. “I killed someone.”

“I’ll take this one.”

“ _What_?”

“I’ll take this one. I’ll fucking tell them that it was me. Get the fuck out of here, go be with your brother. There’s nothing else they can fucking do to me,” Negan said. “Go. Shit’s fucked up, anyway. Go. Clean Lucille off, and take her with you.”

“I can’t—”

 “You can, and you fucking will. If you die, I have  _no_  fucking chance. I’m not going to stay here and let that shit happen. Now  _go_.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: these next two chapters r gory and dark af

Desa didn’t sleep.

_Go._

She had her bag packed, stuffed beneath her bed. She and Jack shared a bed, and the entire time, while he was fast asleep, she remained awake. Her eyes were glued to the ceiling fan above her, and she was trying her best to remain still.

She did. Only when Jack stirred, waking in the morning, did she move. And only when someone pounded on her door, did she get up and leave the room.

It was Amy. 

“We have a problem.”

* * *

This was the first time a majority of the Estate residents had seen Negan. Men, women and children were gathered around in the courtyard, once decorated with beautiful plants and ferns. Now the ferns were dead and it was barren, save for a few spots of soil used to grow fruits and vegetables. 

Negan was standing, hands cuffed, shirtless and shoeless. He was hunched over, his once proud stature had disappeared. He looked smaller, marks of abuse evident on his bare skin. 

Next to him lay Mason’s battered corpse. Desa could see the streaks of blood against the cobblestone from where he’d been dragged. 

The community stood in a semi circle, dead silent as Mother and Father approached. Father’s jaw was set, eyes narrowed. Mother just seemed…tranquil. Emotionless. 

“What’s going on?” Jack murmured, tugging on Desa sleeve. She reached out and steadied her brother, not replying as he cowered behind her. 

Father spoke and, much to Desa’s surprise, his voice was even and steady. 

“Most of you haven’t met Desa’s catch, yet,” Father called. Desa ducked her head and almost forty pairs of eyes swiveled to look at her. “She struck  _big._  This man is the leader of a community called the Sanctuary. They outnumber us by a hundred. They could kill us if they wanted to, but we won’t give them the opportunity. _I_ won’t give them the opportunity. A good Father protects his children.”

Nods. Desa was aware that Mother was watching her, but she didn’t look. 

“As the enemy, this man doesn’t share that sentiment. He  _murdered_ Mason. A good worker. A former parent,” Father feinted distress, wiping away a nonexistent tear. “Now, such behavior will _no_ t be tolerated. Something has to be done. I have to  _discipline_  this man.”

The crowd murmured in agreement. Some didn’t say anything at all. Desa could barely hold it together. 

_I killed him. I killed him._

_It should be me._

Jack’s hand on her arm calmed her. 

_I’m doing this for him. I’ve done things worse than this before._

“He will be placed in the cellar, with the others.”

Approval. Father, grinning, slapped Negan’s bare shoulder and whispered something in the man’s ear. Negan stiffened, visibly disturbed. Amy and another patrol guard gripped him by the hair, yanking him back towards sewers while Mother walked off languidly, most likely to gather her equipment.

_He’s not going into that cellar._

_Don’t let him._

“Des? What’s wrong?” Jack said. Before Desa could take off, he stopped her. Even firmer than last time, he demanded, “Why do you look sick? What happened — you caught that guy, right? Why did he kill—”

“Jack, I don’t know, okay? Go back to the room and stay there.”

“What?”

Lowering her voice, Desa crouched down, placing her hands on Jack’s shoulders. Leaning in close, she murmured, “There’s a bag underneath the bed. If I’m not back by tomorrow, I want you to grab that bag and slip through that hole in the gate. You know, the one a dog dug out? We never filled it back in. You’re small enough to get through there.”

“You’re  _scaring_  me. This isn’t funny—”

“It’s _not_  a joke.”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

Desa sighed. He was more stubborn than her — he’d always had been. 

“You’re a little  _shit_  you know that?”

Jack beamed, bursting out laughing. Desa did the same, tugging him into a hug and saying, “I mean it. I need you to trust me, kid. Okay?”

“Fine. I’ll run if anything happens.”

“Good. And you know what we talked about — if you see a biter, climb a tree. Don’t be loud. Don’t try and fight —  _run._  You didn’t play striker in soccer for nothing, remember, speed-demon?” 

“Right. I got it, I got it.”

Desa prayed that he did. She watched him go, a sad grin on her face. As the crow dispersed, she checked her knife — she had it tucked away in her belt. That was all she really needed. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mother heading towards the sewer entrance. She had a bag in hand. 

Desa stopped Amy as the older women began walking past, saying, “I’m going out scavenging.”

“Not going with your catch?”

“No. If he’s going into the cellar, he’s no longer my business,” Desa sighed. “Besides. You know how much I prefer scavenging. I’m just glad he’s out of my way.”

Amy smiled, lightly patting Desa shoulder. Smoothly, she said, “I’ll let Father know.”

“Thank you.”

She was let through, pushing past the gate and waltzing from the Estate. Engulfed by the woods, she took a hard right and doubled back towards the Estate, flipping on the hood of her dark sweatshirt. She was hyperaware of the knife in her belt — she felt it move each time she walked, bumping against her thigh. The more she walked the stiffer her legs became, her movements almost robotic in nature. She was telling herself not to think. She had to just…do it.

_Get it done._

Desa saw him from a distance — the guard stationed by the entrance to the sewer. She recognized him — Dylan. She could spot that bright red hair for miles. He stuck out like a sore thumb, leaning against the wall, assault rifle slung over his shoulder and a cigarette clutched between his lips. 

Desa adjusted her hook, making sure her knife was concealed before walking forward and into view. Dylan jumped, nearly dropping his cigarette before he realized who it was.

“ _Jesus_ , Des. Don’t sneak up on me like that. I could have shot you!”

“Eh. I would have gotten over it,” Desa shrugged, approaching the sewer grate. She peered inside, scowling. 

“Your catch is in there. Are you happy that he’s going into the cellar?”

“ _No_.”

Desa palmed the knife before gripping it, heaving it upwards and driving it through Dylan’s throat. He gasped, liquid bubbling past his lips as he squawked like a bird, arms flailing. Desa pulled the knife free and watched him fall, clutching his life-sapping wound. After several moments of thrashing, he fell still, the leaves around him soaked with crimson. 

Desa then proceeded to strip Dylan of his shirt, grimacing at the bloodstains. It would have to do — she wasn’t going to find another clean shirt anywhere around here. She balled it up and stuffed it into her pocket, before retrieving the assault rifle. 

_Okay. Breathe steady…breathe…_

She closed her eyes, counting down, finding the trigger and positioning the rifle towards the woods. She fired six short bursts, feeling the butt kick against her shoulder. 

She waited. 

And then they came. Shuffling through the trees. Desa tossed the gun atop Dylan’s body, sliding open the sewer gate and letting it flop against the grass. The group of biters had grown to over a dozen, all drawn by the sound of gunfire. She watched as one fell onto Dylan’s twitching body. The corpse let out a shriek, and Desa winced — he hadn’t died, after all. 

_Like it matters now._

She entered the sewer, aware of the grunts and moans and splashing feet behind her. She kept to the shadows, staying a good deal ahead. When she glanced over her shoulder she saw that the crowd of biters had grown. 

_Good so far. Good so far._

Letting out a breath, she darted to the side, sucking in her stomach and squeezing herself into a human-sized niche. The biters shifted their attention to the iron door — it opened, and Desa caught a brief glimpse of Negan inside, tied to a chair while Mother fawned over him, equipment in hand. 

The two men immediately began shouting, guns raised. Desa stood still, masked by the shadows and the walking corpses. The men began firing and Desa squeezed her eyes shut, hand gripping her knife. 

She saw Mother, escorted by two other men, make a run for it farther down the sewer, towards the main entrance. The biters that tried to follow were shot, and Desa took advantage of the distraction to duck and weave her way through the thinning crowd of undead. 

They saw her at the last minute. Desa drove the knife, hard, into the gut of the first man. The other spun and was promptly taken down, shrieking, gun unloading into the ceiling. 

_Shit shit shit —_

A gun went off dangerously close to Desa’s head, and she screamed. She pulled the knife free, feeling a grimy hand brush against her shoulder, and darted beneath the larger man’s spread legs, into the storage room. 

He toppled forward, and immediately the biters began feasting on his flesh. Desa kicked the iron door shut, falling to the floor. 

Silence. Nails scraped against the door, and Desa took a moment to lay on her back, catching her breath. 

“You look like  _shit_.”

“I look like shit because I’m here to _save_  you. It takes  _work_ ,” Desa panted. She heard Negan strain against his bonds, and she crawled, stopping on her knees next to the arm of the chair. 

“Did you just one-man army that shit?” Negan gnawed on his lower lip, chest heaving with exhilaration as Desa cut past his bindings. The moment she sliced through the last bit of rope, she leaped back, ready just in case he attacked. 

Negan shakily stood, rubbing his raw wrists. There was no admiring his lean physique anymore — his torso was marred with fresh wounds, body and face gaunt from the lack of food and sleep. 

Desa pulled Dylan’s shirt from her pocket, tossing it at Negan. He caught it, staring before shooting her a gracious look. He tugged it over his head, sticking close as Desa gently eased open the iron door. 

Bodies upon bodies lay in the sewer, the surviving biters shuffling around. She gestured for Negan to follow, opening the door fully. 

“Let’s go. We have a wide path.”

They went, Negan uttering curses as he was forced to trudge through an inch of whatever the hell had accumulated in the sewer. They burst into the forest, Desa brandishing her knife and thrusting it through the skull of an approaching biter. For what seemed like an eternity they sprinted, Desa having to constantly stop and pull a wheezing, injured Negan forward. 

They burst onto the main road, and Negan collapsed to his knees. Desa searched wildly but saw no biters. Just a leaf covered asphalt trail, trees on each side. 

Negan coughed, wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth. Desa sheathed her knife and sunk to her knees next to him, reaching out to place a hand against the back of his damp neck. 

When Negan lifted his head, he was squinting. Desa hadn’t realized it, but he’d only seen the sun once since his capture. His eyes were straining as they adjusted to the light. 

They took a moment, before meeting each others gazes. Desa spoke first, wiping blood from her brow, both human and biter. 

“You’re free.  _Go_.”

“Come with me.”

Desa tilted her head. She unsheathed her knife, pressing the hilt into Negan’s open palm. She pointed, saying, “About half a mile down the road, there’s an old fire station. There are working cars inside — you just have to push open the garage. They’re fueled up and ready to go. Take one, and go home.”

“You’re out of your fucking  _mind_. Come with me. Don’t go back to that fucking place—”

“My brother is there. I  _told_ you—”

“We’ll come back and get your brother. I’ll have Simon and my men raid the place and fucking kill…I’ll fucking kill  _all_ of them,” Negan ran fingers through his hair. “I’ll kill every single one of those bastards. I’ll  _torch_  the fucking place. Burn that shit to the ground—”

“Negan.  _Stop_ ,” Desa reached for him, but he pulled away. “Just stop. You don’t owe me  _anything_. This was my choice. I promised myself that I wouldn’t leave Jack behind. If I don’t come back, the first person Father will go to is  _him_.” 

Negan said nothing. He took a long pause before ducking his head, trying to hide his anger. Then he stood, wobbling on his feet. When he steadied himself, his lips were pressed into a thin line. 

“If I wasn’t so fucked up right now, I’d fucking  _carry_  you back. But I fucking can’t. Listen, I know shit got off to a rough start between us. You tried. I could fucking see it and maybe that why I’m not strangling you right now. You fucking tried when no one else would. You’re still fucking  _human_.”

Desa tried not to smile, glancing to the side to hide it. She said, “I…can you make it there? To the cars? The longer I’m out here the more believable it will be. I’m supposed to be scavenging. I’ll walk with you—”

“Terrifying to sweet in a split fucking second. I  _like_  that.”

They began to walk, Negan hobbling along, coughing every once and a while. The first question Negan asked didn’t surprise Desa.

“Where’s Lucille?” 

“I have her. I…I didn’t have time to grab her for you. I had to get there before they  _changed_  you.”

“I’m done with sharp fucking things being pointed at my fucking eye. For the rest of eternity,” Negan rubbed the back of his neck. “Shit. Just…I  _will_ see you again. Next time, make sure she’s with you.”

“Why do you care so much about that bat, anyway?”

“We don’t have time for a sob story. I like you, but we’re not on that fucking level,” Negan replied. “Not yet.”

Desa saw the fire station from afar, pointing. Negan immediately perked up, increasing his pace from a wobble to a very enthusiastic, energetic hobble. Desa couldn’t help but smile once more, able to put the sounds of gunfire and what had transpired in the sewer to the side. 

They stopped, and Desa took it upon herself to lift open the garage. Starting back at them were two vehicles — old sedans from before the world went to shit, scratched, dented, dirty, but functional. Desa began rummaging through the storage cabinet, finding the keys and handing them to Negan.

“Well, this is the end of our journey.”

“I fucking guess. I’m not sad about leaving that fucking hellhole. I’m still confused as hell as to why you’re with those fuckers,” Negan raised his eyebrows. “But in all seriousness…fucking  _thank_  you.”

“Don’t come back here. Don’t bring you men. Don’t send anyone to scout,” Desa said seriously. “Pretend I don’t even exist. It’ll be better for you. Better for everyone—”

“Forgetting  _you_  is going to be particularly fucking hard.”

There was no real method to Negan’s next move, Desa could tell. His lips were soft against hers, despite their dryness. His bare hand came up to hold her face, calloused palms sliding across her skin, feather-light. The gesture felt so natural, so right, that for a moment Desa thought she’d died and gone to heaven.

Then it ended. Desa was thrown back into reality. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come back with me?”

“Not without my brother.”

“Well, you know where I fucking live,” Negan chuckled. “If you do show up at my fucking doorstep, you’ll be invited in. You’re not a fucking stranger. Not anymore.”


	7. Chapter 7

Desa scavenged the rest of the day, returning before the sun could set. She had a duffel bag full of supplies, still a bit tingly from her departure from Negan. In her mind, he was alive and well and had forgotten about her. She knew that reality and her mind were separate entities, and one tended to always contradict the other.

_Monster. Loon._

_You killed people._

_Are you going insane?_

When she returned to the Estate, the guards were eerily quiet. They let her through, and Desa feinted surprise.

Her surprise morphed into horror.

The infamous semi circle had gathered in the courtyard. Father was in the center, and the moment the gate swung shut his eyes darted to Desa and her duffel bag of supplies.

It was when she saw Mother that she stopped.

She was eating candy.

Jack’s candy. His birthday candy. She knew it was his because he loved strawberry mints, and Mother hated them. Yet she was standing, stoic like a statue, with a handful of those bright pink mints. Almost as if to mock —

Desa dropped the duffel bag.

“Do you want to know what your brother did while you were gone?” Father called, beckoning with two fingers for Desa to approach. She did, walking slowly towards the semi circle. “Amy caught him shimmying through the hole in the gate — which we just finished patching, by the way. You know the rules about trying to leave without informing Amy, or Mother, or myself, correct?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good. But that isn’t why I’m upset,” Father raised a finger, pausing as he tried to keep his composure. “He had a backpack on. And in that backpack I found a knife, some canned foods, and I map. An identical map to the one I possess, however mine does not have foreign writing. Jack’s map had been marked with a circle around what  _you_  told  _me_  was the Sanctuary.”

“I have that map for precautionary reasons—”

“Do not speak. Be  _quiet_ ,” Father snarled, raising a finger. Desa clamped her mouth shut as he circled her, like a shark. “I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and simply punish Jack for attempting to escape, but then I received news that a vehicle down at the fire station had been taken, and never returned, and that your catch had somehow escaped amongst the biter chaos. All while you were away and Jack was attempting to smuggle his way out.”

“Father,” Desa said firmly. “I’m not sure what this has to do with anything.”

“I just couldn’t help but think,” Father stopped pacing. “That this was somehow connected. It just seemed peculiar.”

Desa let out a sigh. Mother was still eating that candy, and Desa felt her fingers twitch.

Mother smiled.

“I’d like to see Jack, Father.”

“No. Answer first — did you help Negan escape?”

“No. I was out scavenging all day, and I brought back a bag full of supplies,” Desa said. “This is all  _speculation_ , Father, and  _coincidence_. Now I’d like to see Jack.”

 _“No_. Don’t ask me again, or I’ll kill the child.”

_He’s alive. Good._

Desa remained silent while Father continued pacing. He circled her twice, lips pressed into a thin line.

“You’re right on the line, Desa. If I didn’t care for you, I would kill you. Your insubordination has gone on long enough,” Father stopped. “I  _always_  discipline my children.”

“Yes, Father.”

“ _Good_. Now come and give your a Father a kiss.”

Desa tilted her head back, closing her eyes and stepping forward. Bile rose in the back of her throat as she felt those thin fingers caress her side. He placed a gentle, chaste kiss against her mouth, and the touch alone was enough to make her squeeze her fists together.

Then Father tugged his small knife loose from his belt and drove it, hard, right beneath Desa’s left breast. Desa’s gasp caused a ripple to go through the watching crowd, several bystanders flinching and turning away as Desa dropped like a heavy sack of potatoes.

Her legs twitched wildly as she clutched at the wound, eyes desperately searching the crowd. She needed Jack — she needed to see him. He had to be alive.  _Had_ too—

“Get her up,” Father instructed, gesturing to Amy. She and another man, Todd, stepped forward. Desa was dragged, and as she bypassed Father she heard him say, “Take her to the master bath and dump her in the tub. Make sure she doesn’t stain my carpet. I’ll be up in a minute.”

A chorus of “Yes, Father,” and Desa was lifted, carried like she was nothing more than a fancy package being delivered to Father’s room. A glance behind her confirmed that Mother was following, keeping her distance, while Father continued to address the crowd.

She was still eating that  _goddamn_  candy.

With each bump against the stairs Des hissed, pained and barely able to keep her eyes open. She couldn’t tell whether or not the blade had pierced a lung — she wasn’t coughing up blood, yet, so that had to be a good sign. It just really, really, really _hurt_ , her body in a state of shock. She was, per Father’s instructions, unceremoniously dumped into the ornate bathtub and left there, unable to move, only able to bleed. Mother entered the room. She set down the bag of candy, coming to take a seat on the edge of the tub. There was a disturbing calmness about the way she moved, unbothered by the bleeding girl in her bathtub. Desa could only watch, keeping her mouth shut as Mother reached down to stroke her thigh.

“I am  _so_  disappointed. But we can fix you.”

“Where’s Jack? Is he alive?”

“He is.”

“ _Where_?”

“Telling you would ruin the fun. For now, I will leave you to speculate.”

Desa grit her teeth, lurching forward before a sharp pain in her abdomen stopped her. One hand reached for Mother while the other stayed pressed against her wound, drenched with blood. “You cruel, sadistic  _bitch_!”

Mother’s eyebrows drew together and her face went from relatively neutral, to hostile. She rose, smoothing out her dress.

“Father will decide what to do with you. I don’t believe you have the temperament to be cattle. Unlike your brother.”

“Is Jack in the cellar?” Desa croaked. “Is he?  _Where’s Jack_ —”

She was gone. Desa was left kicking, trying to grab the slippery edge of the bathtub and hoist herself up. Jack was the only thing in her brain. His cherub face. That time they went camping together. That time he’d skied for the first time. That time he’d—

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Father came to a stop before the tub, staring down at Desa, scolding her as if he were scolding a child. “Not until I give you permission.”

“Fuck you.”

“Cursing won’t save you. And such crude behavior makes me consider putting you in the cellar even more. You won’t be able to talk, won’t be able to curse…” Father tilted his head to the side. “I think I’ve made my decision. You will join your brother.”

_I knew it._

Desa tilted her head back, neck straining as she let out a sob. There was a sudden emptiness in her that she’d never felt before.

_I failed you. Jack. Mom._

_I failed you._

A strange comfort, however, was brewing in her belly. She’d be with Jack. She’d be tossed into dank, horrible, awful cellar to have her body used. Even if he couldn’t comprehend or even recognize her, it was still better than being six feet under or one of the biters. She’d still be human.

Father called for Mother. Desa closed her eyes, finger twitching against her wound. She heard Mother enter, Amy behind her.

Mother had her tools. The metal ice pick, the hammer. The towel to stop the bleeding. The scalpel. Desa clutched her wound, scooting away.

_No, no, no —_

_One tiny prick, and it’ll be over._

“Amy, hold her down,” Father instructed. He stepped back, letting his wife do the work. Mother bent over as Amy’s strong arms wrapped around Desa’s wrists, forcing them above her head. She shrieked, kicked, and cursed. All the while Father’s scrutinizing, disappointed gaze was on her.

Mother hadn’t even picked up the tool before a barrage of heavy gunfire sounded from outside. Father spun and Mother stopped, hand hovering over the scalpel. She met Desa’s gaze from beneath longs locks of flowing brown hair, pupils dilated.

Todd burst in, panting. His gun was drawn and he struggled to speak.

“They’re here. Negan and his people. They’re  _here_.”

Desa went to move, but Amy held her down. Mother gathered her tools while Father peered out the window with bewilderment. Desa was struggling, fingers grappling for purchase against the bloody edge of the tub. The gunfire grew louder, and Desa heard shouts from the lower level of the house.

“Father, Mother,” Todd said gravely. “We have to go!”

“Amy, leave her,” Mother said. “She will die from her wounds. Too much blood. Fate has other plans.”

Amy looked sullen, but obeyed. Desa, barely able to move, watched as they hurried out the bathroom, following behind Todd.

Just like that, she was alone, having to listen to the pounding footsteps of the Saviors as they ransacked the home.

_Stay awake. Stay awake._

_Stay alive._

“Hey, I got something!”

A slender man with stringy blonde hair, who Desa recognized, peered down at her. Dave - Duncan -  _Dwight_! Yes, Dwight. She remembered, now. She’d met him briefly. And now he was here, toting a gun while the others thundered up.

“It’s her,” Dwight called. “Simon, get over here!”

Simon, a face Desa knew all to well, appeared. He, too, had a gun slung over his shoulder.

“Shit,” Simon murmured. “Okay, Dwight, grab her. Let’s get her out of here.”

“Got it.”

Desa protested weakly as she was lifted from the tub. Her feet touched the ground and she nearly buckled, relying on Simon’s grip to keep her upright and steady. Droplets of blood oozed past her fingers.

“Here,” Dwight tore a strip of cloth from his jacket, stopping to deftly tie it around Desa’s waist.

“Is there an armory?” Simon asked briskly. When Desa didn’t reply, he lightly squeezed her shoulder and said, “Hey.  _Armory._  Where is it?”

“U-uh in a l-locked room in the cellar,” Desa stammered. They made their way down the stairs, bypassing the bodies of Saviors and Estate resident alike. Desa recognized several. She didn’t care. “I-I  _need_  t-to go there.”

Dwight and Simon exchanged looks. The finally reached the first floor, stepping over bodies. Desa steered Simon towards the cellar door, nearly tripping over a corpse as she attempted to dart towards the door. She wrenched it open, shrugging away Simon when he reached to grab her.

The cellar was dark, damp, walls dripping with moisture. The smell hit her first— urine, feces, and sweat. Grabbing the railing, she descended the stairs without hesitation. The wooden boards creaked, and she heard shuffling. Her hands struggled to find the light, and when she did, she switched it on. Three bulbs illuminated the vast room before her.

Over a dozen, blank faces stared back at her. Familiar, gaunt and underfed faces. None of the people were strangers, and none of them spoke a word, for their minds…tranquilized.

_Jack._

He was sitting in a chair, staring blankly at the wall. The bandages on his head were fresh, his mind poked and prodded until it turned into mush.

Desa picked her way across the room, stepping over sleeping bags and toys. She didn’t dare enter the waste room — someone would have to come and grab the buckets. Whatever excrement they produced, the gardens used as fertilizer.

“What the  _hell_?” Simon breathed, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. Desa ignored him, shuffling to her brother.

He just sat, but his eyes followed Desa as she moved. There was no acknowledgement, however. No recognition. He kind of just, sat.

One of them made a noise, an intelligible sound that was more hostile than welcoming. Simon raised his gun but Dwight stopped him.

“The armory is on the left. It’s a wooden door. A few kicks shoulder do the trick,” Desa said.

“We’ll send Arat for them,” Simon said. “She and the others can round them up in one go. I want to get the hell out of this place.”

Desa reached out to stroke Jack’s hair. His reaction was a bit delayed, and he didn’t speak. Desa didn’t know if he  _remembered_ how to speak. Mother’s tools had cut deep, and despite being a former neurosurgeon, she’d never been tactful with her lobotomies. It was intentional, the carelessness. Motor skills were preferred, but not necessary. They could still eat the slop thrown down the stairs everyday.

_Cattle._

Desa wasn’t crying because she knew what she had to do.

_You’ve always been a monster._

She placed a kiss on Jack’s head, smoothing out his hair and giving him a smile that he didn’t know how to return. Then she stood, limping her way over to Simon. She bypassed him, and he and Dwight did not follow.

She grabbed the first gun she saw, checking the heavy assault rifle. The clip was full, and she tugged the weapon from beneath the deceased corpse of Savior that had been shot down at the top of the stairs.

“Hey, whoa,” Dwight went to reach for the gun, but Desa shouldered him away. Simon’s firm hand stopped Dwight from retaliating. “We can bring them back with us,” Dwight croaked. “There’s a place for them, at the Sanctuary—”

_Liar._

Desa shrugged. She stood a good distance away, the emotionless face of her brother in the crosshairs. The sound of her unloading didn’t even reach her ears. The soft cries, the impact of a body falling against the floor, did. The sight of her brother slumping forward, the plywood around him shattered with bullets almost sent her into a frenzy, but she held her ground and gunned down the entire room in what felt like a nanosecond.

The overwhelming stench of blood clogged her nostrils. She dropped the gun, sinking abruptly to her knees. Simon’s words of concern did not jolt her from her haze. It wasn’t until her face slammed against the floor did she feel anything.

_I’m home._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAAAY THE ANGST IS OVER
> 
> …
> 
> …
> 
> lol NOPE. Anywho, this chapter isn’t actually too tragic so I hope you enjoy. Just warnings for some mentions of suicide and other shit, and Negan’s potty mouth.

“She’ll live,” Carson said. “I’m not sure how that’ll go once she wakes up.”

“Well that’s fucking  _optimistic_ , Doc.” 

“I’m just being realistic. Simon mentioned her behavior at this ‘Estate.’” Carson stopped, and Negan felt the sudden urge to punch the thin-faced man as hard as he could. He didn’t. “That  _isn’t_  the behavior of someone mentally  _sound_. You’ll need to monitor her closely.” 

_He’s right._

He glanced down at her. Like Negan, she’d escaped the Estate in tatters, bruised and bloodied. Carson brushed past him, but he didn’t move, watching Desa’s chest rise and fall with each steady breath. 

He heard the door open, and then close. Simon approached slowly and quietly, stopping by Negan’s side. Without hesitation, he spoke.

“That is one messed up lady.”

“We’re  _all_  fucking messed up, Simon.”

“No, I really mean…she’s _crazy_. She was crazy when she stabbed and  _bit_ Gavin. She was even crazier when she took a machine gun and mowed down all those lobotomized people living in her  _basement_. Including her brother. Oh, and Lucille is in your bedroom…cleaned, practically good as new, courtesy of yours truly.” 

Negan said nothing. Desa’s eyelashes fluttered and she gave a small moan, but did not awaken. 

“ _Negan_ ,” Simon said genuinely. “Look, I know…it’s been  _hard_. This is just me looking at things as an outsider. I legitimately thing you might have some sort of…reverse Stockholm Syndrome going on with this girl. She  _hurt_  you—”

“She never once laid a hand on me. The one that fucking did — well, _one_  of the ones that did — is in a fucking cell. But I don’t fucking want to do shit to her until Desa wakes up.”

“We let the other one  — Father — get away. I know you wanted him alive, too.”

“Yeah, I fucking did. And if I find him, I sure as shit know what I’m going to do to him. I have that shit all planned out, written the fuck down…one is better than none, though.”

“Do you think he’ll come for her?”

“For his wife? No. He doesn’t give a flying _fuck_  about her. That asshole is in it for himself. Always has been.”

Simon nodded, shoving his hands into his pocket. “I’ll go prep the prisoner. Get her comfortable.”

“Good. I’ll be there in a few.”

Negan didn’t turn away from Desa. Simon left, the sound of the shutting door causing Desa’s eyelashes to flutter once more. This time, however, Negan found himself staring into her open orbs.

“Hey.”

“Fuckin’ hey,” Negan replied. He grabbed a chair, taking a seat. Desa very slowly turned her head, analyzing Negan as if she didn’t recognize him. He sucked in a breath, murmuring, “You’re okay. You’re at the Sanctuary. You’re  _safe_.”

“Jack?”

“He’s not here.”

“No,” Desa let out a pitiful sigh. “No. I killed him. I killed all of them.”

Negan remained motionless, silent as Desa confessed. He knew about the cellar — Simon had told him. Everything must have gone to shit after his escape. 

_“Fucking kill everyone but Mother and Father. They’re both fucking mine.”_

Negan couldn’t have been any more clear. He’d intended on stringing them both up on the fence, putting them on display in case any of their people decided to seek vengeance. He’d only gotten half — Mother, beaten and bloodied, was waiting for him in a cell. Father had escaped. 

“It’s over. What’s done is fucking _done_ , Desa. You’re  _not_  going back to that place. It’s  _gone_.” 

“Why did you come back for me?”

“Because we had the numbers. Because I was fucking selfish and wanted Mother and Father delivered to me on a silver fucking platter, so I could make the rest of their lives even more of a living hell than it already was,” Negan said honestly. “And I needed to return the fucking favor. You got me the fuck out, I got you the fuck out.”

“You didn’t let me die. I was weak, I’m a  _monster_  — why didn’t you just let me  _die_?”

“It would have been a fucking waste. You’re not a monster and you sure as fuck ain’t  _weak_ ,” Negan scoffed. “I’m not a fucking  _wasteful_ man.”

“You should be. Some things aren’t worth it,” Desa croaked. She made a move to sit up, but stopped, flopping back onto onto the mattress. “I couldn’t let Jack live. I couldn’t let any of them live, even though they weren’t…they weren’t  _there_. They were just as good as the biters. We treated them like  _cattle_ , Negan. During the winter we…we were short on food. We were running out. Father and Mason and the others went down there, slaughtered some,” Desa bit her bottom lip, trembling. Her eyes were red-rimmed, brimming with tears. “They brought them up, started a fire…passed out the flesh and we all ate it. We had to. They’d kill us if we refused. That was when I took Jack upstairs and I put a gun against his head because I’d rather him and I be dead—”

“You couldn’t fucking do it.” 

“I  _was_  weak, Negan. I should have pulled the trigger then. Let him go to Heaven with Mom and Dad and our sister. I would have stayed as punishment. Hell is too lenient of a sentence for me. I am a  _monster_.”

“You are _not_. I don’t want to hear this shit anymore,” Negan shot up, and Desa flinched. Gentler, he said, “I’m giving you another chance to do it fucking right. What you were back there? It’s  _over_. I have Mother in a cell right fucking now, and we’re going to  _end_  it.”

“You brought Mother here?”

“Yeah. And I’m going to have a long, long fucking  _talk_  with her.”

Desa swung her legs over the side of the cot, wincing. Negan steadied her, his own wounds straining from the excess movement. Carson had berated him about overtaxing his body, but Negan had ignored him. There was too much shit to do. Too much to get ready. A team was on it’s way to the remnants of the Estate to pick up anything of interest — Negan hoped his jacket would be amongst the finds. And Father’s corpse, though Negan knew that was unlikely. 

“I’ll leave when I recover. I don’t want to be a bother—”

“Really? Where the fuck will you go?” Negan raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t fucking bring you back here just to let you walk away.  _No_. I don’t care what shit you did in the past. You have a home here.”

“I didn’t know you enjoyed my company much,” Desa gave a cheeky grin, and Negan ran fingers across his stubble, hiding his smile.

“Don’t get too full of your fucking self.”

“I’m incapable,” Desa said. “I have such a low opinion of me already. But I appreciate your concern.”

Desa dipped his head.  _God_ this girl…he rolled his shoulders, stepping closer. He’d etched the feel of her lips into his mind. Soft, full and supple. None of his wives had come close to comparing. 

When he reached for her, however, she flinched. It was a reflex he’d noticed before, and for he proceeded, he said, “It’s okay. Can I touch you?”

“I should be asking you that.”

“I’m fine,” Negan lied. “It’s…it’s fucking different than that. I won’t ever be able to do the shit that I did before if he’s out there. But this is a fucking start, you know?”

“You can touch me.”

Negan let out a breath, once again kissing her. It was quicker, more reserved. Kissing her here felt different than doing it outside, in some unknown building. It didn’t feel any less right, but it felt…risky. Dangerous. Confusing. 

_You just want pussy. You haven’t even talked to any of your wives since you got back. Haven’t even fucked them, touched them…_

_You know why, dipshit_.

“You haven’t introduced me to everyone,” Desa’s eyes fluttered, and she smiled.

“Most of them pretty much know you. You made a strong fucking first impression the first time you were here,” Negan shrugged. Desa gave a groan of embarrassment, covering her face with her hands. “At least you didn’t fucking kill anybody.”

“That’s becoming my signature, isn’t it? Killing people. Some days I think it’s the only thing I know how to do.”

“You have a chance now to prove otherwise. When you recover, I’m fucking putting you on lookout duty.”

“No scavenging? What, scared I’m going to run off?”

“No. You fucking like me to much to run the fuck off,” Negan gave his most charming smile, trying to hide what he knew was probably bullshit. Her opinion of him would, he knew, once she got a feel for how he ran things. And it made him a bit sad. “You’re a fucking outsider to everyone else  _but_ me. You’ll have to ease your way into things.”

“I can do that. Guard duty doesn’t sound to hard. I’d still like to get a feel of the place, though. Can I have a tour, so I don’t end up stumbling somewhere I’m not welcome?”

Negan gulped, scratching the back of his neck. A tour meant that she’d see where he lived — in the parlor. With his wives.

The thought hadn’t even crossed Negan’s mind. He’d been so preoccupied with his own sickly sated desire for lust — courtesy of that serial fucking rapist, Father — that he hadn’t considered just how Desa would react to seeing his harem of women. Almost instinctually, he’d begun to consider asking Desa to marry him. The sensible part of him thought better of it. Despite his obvious attraction to her, he’d never lay a hand on Desa. 

Another part of him knew that there was no way he’d be able to hide his polyamorous relationship from her. She was smart, curious, and it would only take a simple word from Dwight or some worker for his cover to be blown. 

“Absolutely.”

“And I want it to be you. I don’t want Simon or Dwight to show me around. I just…want you.”

“None of them will fucking hurt you—”

“I know, but they’re not  _you_. I’ll learn how to do things on my own…I just…I need some time.”

“Fine. Fine,” Negan sighed, ducking his head. Lowering his voice, he decided that telling her about his not-so-traditional marriage couldn’t wait. He wanted her to be prepared. The last thing he wanted was for her to somehow thing of… _him_. “There are some things I need to fucking tell you.”


	9. Chapter 9

“She’s still asleep. Carson said that by tomorrow she’ll be able to walk around, do some heavy lifting,” Negan said, glancing over at Simon. It was just the two of them, standing before the cell door. Mother was on the other side, and Negan was taking a moment to calm his nerves. He had Lucille in one hand, fingers trembling as he suppressed the blind rage he felt towards the woman just behind the door. 

“You think she’ll do well on guard duty?”

“She’ll do fucking fine, Simon. She’s fucking better than half the damn nitwits we have here, anyway.”

Simon raised his hands in a placating gesture, seeming to understand. Crossing his arms, he said, “Listen, it’s not my place to say anything—”

“Then fucking _don’t_.”

“It’s more of a suggestion than anything else. It’s about the Estate.”

“What about it?”

“From a tactical position, it would make an excellent outpost. It has space, power—”

“No. Fucking  _no_. After Arat comes back with the gun, nobody is fucking going back to that place,” Negan snarled. He was more angered at Simon’s audacity to even mention such an idea. “Especially since Father and a big chunk of his people fucking escaped.”

“Did you want to send a team to hunt them down?” 

“Not until we talk to  _her_ ,” Negan jerked his chin towards the door. “I have a fucking feeling she knows where they ran off too. And she’s going to tell us.”

Simon pushed open the door, Negan following behind. He did his best to look and sound confidence, ensuring that Mother knew he was in charge. Not her. Not Father. 

_No more._

“You look  _shitty_ ,” Negan crowed. 

Bruised, bloodied lips stretched into a smile. One eyes was swollen shut, chin painted dark with dried blood. She didn’t seem at all intimidated by Negan and Simon. In fact, she looked amused.

“Are you here to kill me?”

“Not yet,” Simon replied. “You’ll get yours. But not until you tell us where your husband went. Where he’s hiding.”

“He’s not hiding. He’s not a coward. If you see him, he will face you.”

Negan scoffed, resting Lucille against his shoulder. “Listen, Mother. I’ll give you a fucking choice of how you want to fucking die. I can slice off your toes and fingers and tongue, and then fucking beat you with Lucille here. Or, if you tell me where the fuck I can find Father, I’ll make it quick. I’ll cut you apart limb from limb until you fucking  _die_.”

“You would do better to kill me.”

“Oh, I fucking  _will_. Don’t get that shit confused. I’m not going to be merciful. I’m going to make you fucking suffer whether you tell me where he is or not. The only control you have is how _fast_ , and how  _much_.”

“Is Desa here?”

“No. She’s dead,” Negan lied.

“A tragedy. I suspected that she was infatuated with you. She and Father have  _very_  similar tastes.”

“Your husband is a fucking serial  _rapist_. And so are you.”

“As if I didn’t know?” Mother bit back. It was the first sign of an outburst, and it caught Negan by surprise. “Those people were our  _children_. And we had to discipline them. Father received pleasure in tormenting them, _I_ did not.”

“You did what he told you?”

“No. I did what I  _believed_. And I believed in  _him_ ,” Mother growled. “I always have. From the moment we were born - born of the same woman. I never called him brother because there was  _always_  more—”

Negan swung his fist. It caught Mother in the temple and she slouched, unconscious, brown hair covering her face like a blanket. A cold sweat had broken out along Negan’s back and neck, leaving him panting, disoriented. 

“Hold on,” Simon said slowly. “That…that’s her _brother_ —”

“You don’t have to fucking repeat it, Simon.  _Shit_. Clean her up, make sure she isn’t too badly hurt. I still want to draw this shit out as long as possible.”

Simon nodded. Negan shut the door, pressing his forehead against the cool metal. He steadied his breathing, attempting to look presentable before he went back to Desa. The entire exchange with Mother had frazzled him, caught him off guard. He wasn’t used to that. 

He quietly crept back into the infirmary, eyes immediately falling on Desa. She was asleep in the corner cot, Carson standing over her. When Negan entered he nodded, making a move to kneel. Negan stopped him. 

“You’re done for the day. You don’t have to be standing over her like that,” Negan rubbed his eyes. “I have another fucking job for you. That woman we have in the cell? Go check on her. Make sure she won’t fucking die on me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Negan pulled up a chair. Desa was snuggled into the sheets, sleeping hard. He absently reached out and touched her arm, glancing around to ensure that no one was watching. She stirred, but did not awaken. Negan almost wish she had. He enjoyed talking to her more than he enjoyed talking to half the people here. 

_Go back to your wives. They’ll start to fucking wonder._

* * *

_“Wakey wakey, Dessy.”_

She was already awake. She almost rolled over and snapped at Simon, before the smell of eggs flooded her nostrils. Her mouth immediately began to water and she sat up, snapping her head to the side.

Simon stopped like a deer caught in the headlights. Very slowly he set the plate down and said, “That was terrifying. Please don’t move that fast,” he gestured to the food. “I brought you something. Made it myself.”

“Thank you.”

Simon nodded, and to Desa’s dismay, he pulled up a chair. Her discomfort was obvious, and Simon said, “I mean, I can leave if you want me too.”

“You’re fine. I’m just not used to the company.”

“Oh,” Simon rolled his shoulders. “Well, since I’m here, I thought I’d tell you about Mother. She’s, uh, not at all singing. And we  _need_  her to sing.”

With a mouthful of food, Desa replied, “She won’t talk. And I don’t know anything that would make her talk. The only thing I know is that she used to be a neurosurgeon before all this. That’s how she knows so much about lobotomies.”

“What about Father?”

Desa snorted. She took a few more bites before saying, “He owned a restaurant. Some fancy place in the middle of D.C. Was probably a serial killer or something on the side.”

“A neurosurgeon and a restaurant owner. Some combo.”

“She’s not going to tell you anything. She’s not. She’s so loyal to him,” Desa cringed. “And I’m not going to be of much help. If that had a plan, a secret rendezvous point, another hideout…they didn’t tell us. You need to just kill her.”

“That’s Negan’s call, not mine.”

“Where is he?” Desa asked, finishing her breakfast. Simon stood as she tested her legs, sliding from the bed. She wobbled a bit before managing to regain her balance. Walking was a bit difficult, but not impossible. It would probably be another day before she had all her senses back.

“Outside with Arat. They’re loading up at the goodies brought back from your place,” Simon winked. “That cellar was loaded.”

“Yeah, it was,” Desa said unenthusiastically.

“You know what I meant,” Simon rolled his eyes, patting her on the shoulder. “Lighten up. This is a new beginning. After Negan gives you the tour of the place, you’ll be on guard duty.”

Desa had one last thing to attend to before she went on guard duty. She’d overheard Negan mention a second trip to the Estate — there was still so much they needed to grab. Simon wasn’t wrong — the place was loaded, and it would take some digging before they found everything that was of value.

She and Simon stepped onto the balcony, watching as Negan spoke briskly to Arat before turning. He spotted Desa, lifting Lucille to point in her direction, before making a ‘come hither’ motion with his finger.

Desa obeyed, hopping down the stairs.

“Arat, this is our new resident, Desa. Desa, Arat. Arat, Desa.”

The woman was cute. Muscular, with a what seemed to be a permanent scowl. Nonetheless, she extended her gloved hand in a gesture of friendship. Desa shook it.

“We’ll sort out the details later, Arat,” Negan said. He wrapped an arm around Desa’s shoulder, spinning her around. Simon was watching, a grin on his face. Negan added, “I’ll make this tour quick as shit, so bear with me.”

“Will there be a quiz after?”

“I can fucking make one, smartass. Oh, yeah, first fucking rule —  _don’t_ be a smartass,” Negan leaned in close. “At least, don’t be a smartass in front of my men. I will shut that shit down  _real_  fucking quick. But behind closed doors? That shit fucking turns me on.”

“Easy. I can follow,” Desa shrugged. A devilish grin came across her face and she murmured, “What else can I do behind closed doors?”

“Kissing me,” Negan replied. “That you can most definitely do.”

They made their way inside, stopping and overlooking the lower factory level. Immediately, everyone stopped and knelt onto one knee, a gesture that surprised Desa. She shook her head, flabbergasted, before pushing away her surprise and faking a smile.

Next was the storage area, the kitchen, armory, and then the parlor — where Negan stayed. Desa expected him to live lavishly, and she was almost excited to see his tastes in interior decor — until he opened the door.

Seven women briefly turned to look, before going back to their business. Some were playing cards, others knitting, talking amongst themselves. The interior was, indeed, lavish, with velvet furniture and rugs, dark painted walls, lit lanterns.

Seven women.

His  _wives. He hadn’t been bluffing._

They didn’t kneel when Negan entered, which was a plus. They seemed rather dismissive of him, only rising to attention when he spoke loudly.

“We have a fucking  _guest_ , girls.”

The first to speak was a dark haired, beautiful woman. She met Desa’s gaze but addressed Negan, saying, “We know. We saw from the window,” a calming, kind look flashed across her face and she stepped forward. “I’m Sherry.”

She extended her hand, but Desa just stared. She looked up at Negan, waiting for another explanation. There had to be.

Nonchalantly, Negan said, “You have two choices — you can work for points, which I assume you’ll be fucking doing, Desa, or marry me. Up here, you don’t have to work. You can just stay, sit and eat and whatever. Only rule is you can’t fucking cheat on me.”

“Marriage means…sex, right?”

“It doesn’t have to be. I can get my rocks off plenty without you girls. It’s just the added bonus of making sure my men know who the fuck is in charge.”

“You should consider it,” Sherry said, smiling.

“She won’t. I don’t think that’s your fucking style, right Desa?” Negan’s grin was strained, and that was when Desa realized that he was trying to slowly but surely steer her towards the door, out of the parlor. There was a discomfort in his eyes that she’d never seen before.

Desa acted. She grabbed his gloved hand and said, “Can I talk to you?”

Negan nodded. Ingoring Sherry’s curious looks, they shut the parlor door behind them. Desa ran fingers through her hair, pacing the hallway.

“I didn’t want to fucking bring you in there, but I didn’t want to fucking  _lie._  That’s why I told you—”

“Wives, Negan? Really? What is this really—”

“This is a hell of a lot better than that shithole you were living in before.”

“And the kneeling?” Desa challenged. “What about that? What about that isn’t like—”

“Don’t you dare fucking say it.”

“I can say whatever the hell I want. That man violated me _just_ as much as he violated you. I know you could never be like him. But there are some things that I see…that I just can’t…get out. I can’t get him out. Him or Mother. I could pick apart my brain for hours and still not be able to explain it.”

Desa felt sick to her stomach. She was twisting the situation, she knew. She could never understand Father’s logic, but she could understand Negan’s. Almost. She was more disgusted with herself because deep within her belly she could feel jealously rising. She was jealous of those women. Jealous that they’d been pampered and protected while she was out slaving. Jealous that they’d had  _him._

She had more than a fondness for Negan, but she was unsure whether or not it was entirely genuine. She was latching onto him, because he’d been there. He’d  _seen_ everything,  _endured_ everything.

“You know when they brought me back here, Amber tried to be all over me. That shit makes me sick now. I can pretend that it doesn’t, but it fucking does. All I fucking feel is Father. Jesus,” Negan rubbed the back of his neck. “How the fuck did you deal with that for so long?”

“I stopped feeling. I just let it happen.”

“Did that fucking work?”

“Considering the mental breakdown I’m having right now, no, it didn’t.” Negan chuckled, and Desa leaned against the wall. She stared at the parlor door, sighing. “Guard duty. I can do that.”

“The shift is only a few fuckin’ hours. Someone will come tap you out,” Negan explained. “It’s not too fucking grueling. Trust me. That’s why I’m putting you there.”

“And what if I want to become a wife?”

“You do?”

“I don’t. But hypothetically, if I wanted to, what would you do?”

“I’d let you. You’re a grown ass fucking woman who could probably chop my dick off if you wanted to. But I don’t have to worry about that because it’s hypothetical.”

“Just felt like prodding your mind,” smirking, Desa ducked her head and added, “It’s kind of empty in there.”

“Hey…smartass…”

“You said I could be a smartass behind closed doors,” she jerked a finger at the parlor. “That door is, indeed, closed. And now that you’ve got a hard on, go back in there with your girls.”

“Tease. You remember where the guns are, right? Check one out with Dave and then go up to the post and get to work. You know what you have to do.”


	10. Chapter 10

The afternoon droned on, uneventful and slow. Desa didn’t mind — it beat having to please Mother and Father, or clean out the cellar…hell, anything was better than that. She was contributing, which she enjoyed. But at the same time, there was nagging feeling in the back of her mind.

She noticed it when a caravan approached the gate, led by a Savior named Laura. The blonde women didn’t make eye contact with Desa, hands on the steering wheel. Desa let them through, not thinking twice of the event.

It happened a second time when one of the Saviors, Fat Joey, came to take over towards the evening. Despite towering over Desa and being three times as wide, he was timid. Scared. He approached with caution, barely speaking.

“You’re, uh, free to go.”

Desa simply nodded, hopping down. Joey turned his back to her, occasionally glancing over his shoulder. Desa pushed it aside, entering the Sanctuary with a scowl on her face.

The third time it happened, she’d entered the kitchen. Two of Negan’s wives, clad in tight black dresses and heels, glanced up quickly before avoiding eye contact. Even the cook seemed a little put off — a sweet older woman with an unassuming voice.

That was when Desa realized what was wrong.

They were scared of her. Or disgusted. Or maybe a bit of both.

She grabbed some foot, taking a seat in the corner. She assumed news of the Estate had spread, and even faster, news of _her_. She had no doubt that either Dwight or Simon had told people about the cellar, and life at the Estate, and though it wasn’t really their fault, the information had spread like a game of telephone, most likely being altered and twisted the farther down the line it went.

_Even in a community full of freaks, you’re still a freak._

Desa stood, fed up with the stares. She bypassed the wives, surprised when one of the women reached out and caught her by the wrist.

“Hey. Sit for a second.”

It was Amber and another woman, who introduced herself as Tanya. Desa reluctantly sat, stifling her discomfort and putting on a smile.

“Listen, uh, I saw what happened the other day, with Negan. When he brought you to the parlor. I’m sorry I didn’t speak up. You were clearly uncomfortable—”

“We worked it out,” Desa said coolly. “I was caught off guard. Doesn’t meant I can’t deal with it.”

“Did he ask you to marry him?”

“No,” Desa said quickly. “He didn’t. And he’s not going to.”

Tanya and Amber fell silent. Amber ducked her head, pushing locks of blonde hair from her face. She said softly, “Is it because of what happened…?”

“Nothing happened.”

“ _Something_ happened. Back at that mansion, where you’re from. I saw when they dragged Negan in. He looked like shit,” Tanya leaned forward, sounding more aggressive. “That’s what we want to talk about.  _You_  were there.”

Desa pinched the bridge of her nose, looking around. “Listen, if you saw Negan when he got back, you know what happened. They tortured him. I saw it. That’s all there is to it.”

“Why’d you help him escape?”

“It was a mutual thing. I was his way out, he was mine. Surely you guys know about that. Being wives and all,” Desa raised his eyebrows. The caustic glance Amber shot her made her finally stand, doing her best to remove herself from the conversation without causing any more tension. She said, “Look. I’m new here. I’m not used to this system…I’m not. So you’ll have to forgive me if I come off as rude. I’m not trying to steal Negan away from you, if that’s what you’re worried about—”

“Not at all. We were just curious. We’ve heard rumors about that place…where you come from. What you did. There are plenty of cruel people in this world. Plenty of cruel people here. We don’t need any more,” Tanya proclaimed.

Desa’s lip twitched, but she controlled herself. Her knife was in her belt — the same knife from before. Negan had returned it to her.

“I have to go,” Desa said softly, disappointed at how weak she sounded. Fatigue washed over her, and she immediately returned to her quaint little room with a cot and a nightstand.

She stripped, all the while thinking of Negan. He was just down the hall — he’d placed her there on purpose, she knew. Despite his constant mother hen behavior towards her, he was still making is clear that Desa was on her own. He either chose not to invest because it would raise suspicions, or he just didn’t care.

_It’s not like the Estate. He was dependent on you. He’s not anymore. And you’re not dependent on him._

_That’s how it should be._

* * *

 

Desa didn’t see Negan for the next three days.He was either out, with his wives, or cooped up inside surveying the Sanctuary. Desa was out in the front, guarding the place. Every day towards the evening Joey would come and sheepishly take her place, leaving her free.

The fourth day was different. Desa could tell. There was a silence in the air, the courtyard vacant. When Joey came to relieve her, he spoke.

“Negan wants you. Lower level — workers level.”

“What’s going on?”

“Someone screwed up,” Joey shrugged as Desa handed him her gun. “I’ve seen it before. You’d better get in there.”

Desa nodded, hopping down the stairs and hurrying her was back inside. A large crowd had gathered, and Desa saw the familiar cluster of delicately dressed women towards the front. Using her small size to her advantage she pushed forward, stopping and staring over one of the wives — Frankie’s — shoulder.

Negan met her gaze, then. He was hovering over a sitting, distraught looking Dwight with what looked to be a sizzling hot iron in one gloved hand.

_He smiled._

“This is what fucking happens when you break the goddamn rules. This is what happens, _Dwight_ ,” Negan bent over, sneering. Dwight was trying desperately not to look at Negan, head turned to the side, eyes squeezed shut. Negan snarled, “The rules keep you alive, Dwighty-boy. Can’t do shit if you’re dead. I can’t believe you, of all people, would forget that shit.”

The iron stopped an inch from Dwight’s skin. Negan’s brow was slick with sweat, and Desa could see, even from a distance, the slight tremble in his hand. Nevertheless, he grit his teeth and pressed the simmering, orange-hot iron against the side of Dwight’s face.

Dwight  _screamed._

_Oh, no._

_Oh, no, no, no._

Desa felt light headed. She heard one of the women, most likely Sherry, give a cry of anguish. Dwight’s shrieks tapered into grunts, and then silence as he fell unconscious.

Negan’s emotionless gaze fell on Desa, but she was already turning and shoving her way through the crowd, heedless.

_Find the exit. Find it._

She remembered where the hole in the fence was. The same one she’d used to sneak inside, during the beginning. It still hadn’t been fixed and she was able to slide her body through without any issues, fingers scrambling against the dirt. She heard Joey give a shout of alarm, just as she was swallowed by the trees.

_She ran._


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh I’m so excited for this chapter. It’s probably my absolute fav and I had fun writing it. I hope a lot of y’all are satisfied with it XD anywho, thank you guys so much for sticking with this story! *sends u a million hearts*

The moment Negan dismissed the crowd, and Dwight was toted off to see Carson, he went down to the cells. 

A million thoughts ran through his mind. He considered punishing Mother by making it a spectacle, a public event. The only downside was that Mother was  an enigma. Such an act would only benefit Negan. The others, the rest of the Saviors, they didn’t  _know._

He was still simmering. He hadn’t spoken a word to Sherry. Gavin had been the one to catch her and Dwight going at it, and from the lack of excuses Sherry gave, he assumed it to be true. Sherry wasn’t the one to be silent. Ever. 

_Rules are rules._

Negan prayed none of his men had caught the tremble in his hand. He’d done it nonchalantly, almost stoically before. But the internal wounds caused by Mother and Father had yet to close. He was still  _weak_. 

_You’re not them. You’re not._

He entered the cell. Mother looked up, flashing her crooked teeth. The smile made Negan sick to his stomach, and he knelt, placing Lucille on the ground behind him. 

“I heard screams. Did you punish someone?”

“Yes,” Negan answered. 

“How?”

“A hot iron to the fucking face. You might be next if you don’t stop asking questions,” Negan growled. “I fucking came here to take one last good look at you.”

“Finally run out of patience?” Mother crowed. She shifted, restraints rattling. Negan’s heart began to beat faster, and he absently reached for Lucille before catching himself, stopping.

_No. Not like this._

“Yeah, I fucking have. People like you don’t deserve a fucking trial or a punishment. Your fucking legacy is  _dead_ ,” Negan leaned forward. “And soon, you will be, too. My Saviors are going to live on, fucking  _prosper_ — you had a chance to prosper with us, but you didn’t. Desa is the only one who made the right decision. I thought I’d let you know that she’s alive before you fucking die.”

That revelation caused Mother’s face to contort in rage. She bared her teeth, lunging, cursing, hair billowing like a halo. Negan met her halfway, planting a knee against her chest, both hands around her throat.

She hissed and scratched like an animal, nails drawing blood. Negan, consumed with bloodlust, did not feel the abrasions against his skin. He squeezed and Mother gasped, trying to draw in air as Negan slowly crushed her windpipe. 

She thrashed, her kicking legs falling limp, her grip on Negan slackening. He continued to squeeze until his knuckles turned white and he could feel cartilage crunch beneath his fingers, long after Mother’s heart had ceased to beat.

He quickly drew his knife and thrust it into Mother’s head. She lay, a corpse, deader than the people she’d lobotomized. 

Negan wiped his hands, standing. When he exited the cell, Fat Joey was waiting for him, a very, very concerned look on his flushed face. 

“What the fuck do you want, Joey?”

“It’s her. The girl. The one from the Estate or whatever,” Joey stammered, tripping over his words. But Negan heard him clearly, crisply, and they sent dread coursing throughout his entire body. “She’s gone. She ran.”

* * *

 

_You’ve made a gross miscalculation._

Desa followed the main road for miles, the path towards the Estate clear in her mind. She’d set a goal for herself, and she was determined to complete it. It gave her something to focus on. Something to keep her mind off the sound of Dwight’s flesh simmering away beneath a hot iron —

_Don’t think about. Don’t._

While she’d been confident at first, she was beginning to realize how rashly she’d acted. She had a knife, no gun, no bag of supplies. The trip to the estate would take her at least two days by foot, and she wasn’t entirely sure if there were any outposts on the way. 

She kept walking, anyway. Even as the sun began to set, she continued her trek until she was, finally, forced to stop as a car rolled up behind her, headlights flickering on. 

_You tried._

“You have some goddamn nerve coming out here. What the fuck could you possibly have been thinking?”

Desa didn’t look at Negan. 

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“Obviously. Goddamit, Desa. Come here.” Desa still wasn’t looking at Negan. She felt his hand against the back of her neck as he rounded on her, dipping his head to meet her unfaltering gaze. After a long pause, Negan sighed and said, “What’s the fucking matter?”

“Dwight. You  _burned_  him.”

“Yeah, I did. He didn’t follow the fucking rules. I couldn’t let that shit go unpunished,” Negan explained softly. “That’s how we do things here, Desa. I don’t like doing that shit, but it has to be done.”

“Why?”

“He snuck behind my fucking back to get with Sherry—”

“I know that. I don’t care about that. Why did you have to burn his face?”

Negan pinched the bridge of his nose, glancing over Desa’s shoulder. Leaves rustled, followed by the soft groan of a biter as it shuffled onto the road. Negan murmured, “Go get in the fucking car.”

“I’m not going back. Not yet. You’re going to take me somewhere, first.”

Negan spun Lucille, downing the biter in one heavy swing. Pearls of blood dripped from the barbed wire, but Negan didn’t seem to care. Letting out a breath, he turned and said, “You’re in  _no_  position to be making demands.”

“If you won’t take me, I’ll walk.”

“The fuck you won’t.”

“Then let’s go. Right now. To the Estate, so I can bury Jack,” Desa could tell that she’d struck a nerve as she pleaded, “Please. After what I did, he deserves… _something_.”

“Tell me why the _fuck_  you’re out here, first.”

“I was  _scared_. The iron…Dwight…all that scared me. I wasn’t thinking clearly, so I ran. I thought I’d put all that behind me. I thought the Sanctuary was  _different_ —”

“It  _is_ ,” Negan stressed, walking quickly towards Desa. He stopped when he saw her flinch away. “I only punish those who fuck up. Not for some sick, twisted fucking pleasure. I can’t just… _ignore_  the rules that I set up to fucking keep people  _alive_.”

“I don’t know how putting a hot iron against Dwight’s face is keeping him alive.”

“I’m not asking you to fucking understand, Desa. I’m asking you to fucking  _trust_  me, know that I’d _neve_ r hurt you. Not like that. You’ve fucking been through enough shit already for me to be worried about serving a proper punishment,” Negan glanced away. “That’s all I ask, okay? Fucking _trust_. I’ll take you to Jack, and then we can go the fuck home.”

Desa nodded, silently crawling into Negan’s truck. He revved the engine, rolling down the road with a stoic, fatigued expression on his face. Lucille lay in his lap and Desa absently reached out to run her fingers across the smooth handle. 

“Like her? She’s saved my fucking life more times than I can fucking count,” Negan murmured. “The only woman that’s ever been there for me in this shithole of a world.”

“The only woman? No one else?”

Negan took a second to reply. “Yeah. Pretty fucking much.”

Desa gave a hum of acknowledgment, resisting the urge to doze off. The drive blurred into a few instances, a few conversations here and there, until finally, Negan was pulling up to the Estate.

The place was still fenced off, having been swept somewhat clean by Negan’s men. Bodies had been yanked from within, struck in the head and tossed into a pile in the courtyard. As Negan closed and secured the fence, Desa immediately rushed over. 

No Jack. But she did see Todd. And Allison. Corpses, peppered with gunshots to the head and body. 

_Shit. They didn’t get the cellar._

She turned to Negan, shaking her head. The older man heaved a sigh, hefting Lucille over his shoulder. 

“He’s still down there. I’ll go get him.”

“Not alone.”

“Yes, alone. I _wanted_  to do this. I won’t risk you possibly getting hurt because of my idea—”

“Don’t fucking worry about me. You’re not fucking going alone. Sorry, not fucking sorry.”

Desa rolled her eyes, but tried not to smile. She drew her knife, getting into position and slowly pushing open the front door. No gnashing teeth greeted her — just the blood-streaked tiled floors. and a wall decorated with bullet holes. 

She mentally prepared herself, taking a few breaths. She stopped atop the cellar stairs, staring through the open door. Again, there were no biters. Just an eerie silence from below. She knew Arat and the others had gotten the weapons and most likely shot the place up again, but she still didn’t like the feeling. She never imagined herself going into the cellar again. 

Yet, here she was, under some delusion that giving Jack a proper burial would cleanse her of her sins. 

Behind her, Negan said, “Stay here.”

“Negan—”

“I know everyone down there is fucking dead for good. You don’t need to see it a second time. You said Jack is the only kid?”

“Yeah. He’s got dark hair. Bright shirt. Hard to miss. Negan, you don’t have to—”

He was already gone, stepping briskly down the stairs and into the dimly lit cellar. For five minutes Desa waited, arms at her side.

She nearly wept when he came walking up the stairs, Jack’s body in his arms. He had a solemn look on his face, and Desa rushed to grab the shovel from the utility closet. 

They dug a small grave, barely speaking. And when it was time, Desa helped lower Jack’s body into the pit. They covered him, until only a patch in the dirt was left. The physical exertion left Desa sweating, and it wasn’t until Negan let the shovel gently fall against the grass did she begin to weep. The tears came from a place of exhaustion, pain, and sorrow. 

Negan let her cry, observing as she fell to her knees. It was only until after the last upheaval that he touched Desa’s shoulder, helping her stand. 

“We’ll stay the fucking night, okay? I have a walkie — I’ll radio Simon, let him know.”

They shut and locked the mansions doors. It was now just the two of them, and Desa’s mind became flooded with memories. There had always been noise throughout the building. Residents. Now it was…dead. Dead, except the power. For some reason, the lack of sound made things almost…worse.

“C’mon,” Desa trudged up the stairs, Negan hot on her heels. She was dodging horrific memories, pushing forward until she reached the set of swinging double doors that led to Mother and Father’s room. 

It was grand, with a massive bed and bath, intricate paintings and a desk and chair. 

“This wasn’t my room, before you ask.”

“I could fucking tell. This art style…doesn’t fucking seem like you.”

“Mother liked art. Father thought all the painting were tacky,” Desa snorted. 

“They’d argue about it. Almost like a normal fucking couple.”

“If you exclude the fact that they’re siblings.”

“None of us knew. Some of us suspected,” Desa snorted. “They…they look similar. I just thought they were one of those really well matched couples. Physically, at least. There were other things to worry about, much so that I don’t think many people cared.”

“Why did you want to come up here?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to see it because, for the first time, I’m not afraid. Of them. You notice things when you aren’t afraid.”

“What have you noticed?” Negan asked. He was on the other side of the room, hunched a bit. He’d put Lucille against the desk and removed his glove before turning on the lamp, basking the room in a warm orange light. 

“I’ve noticed you.”

Negan lifted his head. Desa’s fingers traced patterns against the bedsheets as he approached, more curious than surprised, almost like he hadn’t heard her correctly. He stopped, his breath warm against her cheek.

“At that moment, Desa’s brain reminded her of how sweaty and clammy her skin was. She made a noise in the back of her throat, shifting away from Negan and saying, “I need to shower before I sleep.”

“So do I. And I’m fucking hungry.”

“Mother and Father hid the foods they liked under the bed,” Desa said. “I’m not exactly sure how much variety there is, but it’s food. We can take the rest back with us.” 

There was no door to the bathroom. The shower was glass, wide and beautifully tiled. 

The bathtub still had her blood in it, dried to the white surface. She quickly looked away, mustering up the courage and forcing herself not to be bothered as she stripped, aware that Negan was staring out of the corner of his eye. 

She showered, and then Negan. After, clad in clothes that had once belonged to Mother and Father, they sat on the bed and devoured cans of food. It wasn’t a gourmet meal, but with the moody, dramatic lighting it felt like the closest thing to a date Desa had ever been on in this biter-infested world. 

“This was a good idea. Staying overnight.”

“These sheets are softer than mine, goddamn,” Negan felt the fabric beneath his fingers, smirking. After a few chuckles, his face went from mirthful to serious. He shifted positions, a telltale sign of nervousness. Then he said, “Desa, before I went after you…I visited Mother. I fucking killed her. I had to end it right there.”

“You sound like you expected me to be upset. I’m not. I could care less how she dies,” Desa grumbled. She hoped the look on her face didn’t betray her words — she wasn’t lying. Mother’s death was a good thing. A very, very good thing. The fact that they were in her former bedroom, eating food she and Father had once shared, made it even better.

“Now we have one fucking left.”

“If he’s still around. Father is smart. He knows he’s outnumbered. He’ll fall back and strike when its time.”

“Even more of a reason to fucking hunt him down.”

“Hey,” Desa reached out, gently cupping Negan’s cheek, running her thumb across his stubbled jaw. “I’m here for you. I am. But don’t let this get to your head.”

Negan turned his head, kissing Desa’s palm as he murmured, “I won’t. I fucking won’t.”

“Do you see yourself in him, Negan? In Father?” Negan didn’t reply. Desa took his silence as admission, saying, “Because to me, you’re _not_ him. You never will be. I told you I was going to try and understand, and I am.”

Negan nuzzled Desa’s palm, letting out a sigh of contentment. For the first time, Desa initiated the kiss, getting on her knees and dipping her head down to press her lips against his. She was hasty — maybe a bit too hasty, skimming her fingers beneath Negan’s shirt in a subtle hint that she wanted the material off his body. He stopped her, gripping her by the wrists.

“I need to make sure that you fucking  _want_ this.”

“I  _do_. Do you?”

Negan nodded. Desa glanced down, toying with the the zipper to his pants. She could feel him, hot and hard beneath the palm of her hand. His breathing was ragged, fingers trembling as he tried to control himself. He leaned forward and gave her an open mouthed kiss, teeth nipping at her lower lip while his hands crept up her shirt.

Desa pulled away, saying quickly, “I don’t know how to do this — I’ve never — I’ve never, done it like…slowly. I’ve never done it like this.”

She kept the explanation simple. She didn’t want to think about her first time with Mother and Father. Negan’s inviting, warm gaze was a comfort. 

“We won’t rush. We don’t have to rush,” Negan murmured, continuing to speak as Desa removed his shirt. She traced her fingers across the fading ink on his skin, flattening her palm against the skull on his chest. He added, “Although, I might have to take some fucking time to deal with little Negan.”

“Little Negan?”

“My dick.”

Desa cackled at his bluntness, resting her mouth against his shoulder to stifle her laughter. She wiped tears from her eyes, choking, “You are  _weird_.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have a name for my vagina,” Desa retorted. Negan lightly swatted her ass, before he slipped a finger beneath the hem of her underwear. Desa had opted out of wearing pants — an oversized shirt she’d found in the closet fit just fine. Her attire allowed easy access to her most sensitive parts, and she deftly removed it without a second thought.

“God. You’re fucking  _soaked_ ,” Negan purred. “Is that all for me?”

Desa squirmed in Negan’s lap, trying to remain stoic as he hooked two fingers, sweeping them across her clit. They felt impossibly large, easing their way inside her. Negan smirked when she gave an audible moan. 

“I’ve gotta get you ready for me,” Negan grunted. Desa angled her hips, trying her best not to rock against his fingers. He gave a low whistle, growling, “Fuck. Look at you, riding my fucking fingers.”

He pulled away, leaving Desa half-sated. She reached for him, but he raised his slick fingers, popping them both into his mouth. He gave a satisfied groan.

It was the first time a man had made an effort to pleasure her. Her nights with Father hadn’t been anything but unshared enjoyment, all the pleasure on Father’s side. Desa would just…lay there and take it. 

_Don’t think about that. Don’t think —_

“Negan—”

“What is it, baby?” Negan purred against her skin. He’d pushed his pants and boxers down past his knees before kicking them away. He fisted his erect cock, and Desa fell back against the mattress while he hovered over her, chest heaving. His free hand ripped the thin fabric of Desa’s panties, and in a hoarse voice he said, “Fuck. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you.”

“Good. Fucking  _good_ girl,” Negan panted, easing the tip past Desa’s moist folds. She squirmed, whining at the intrusion. It felt foreign, odd — he was bigger than Father. She wasn’t used to being pampered, taken care off. She squeezed the bedsheets, closing her eyes and letting out a soft breath as Negan said, “Shit. Shit, you’re fucking…shit. Does that hurt?”

“A little.”

Negan braced one arm next to her head, thrusting forward abruptly. He leaned down, swallowing Desa’s moans in a kiss. Desa lifted her hips to meet his hard thrusts, mouth open in bliss as he breathily swirled his hips, falling into a steady rhythm stirred on by Desa’s begging. 

She clamped around him the moment he snaked a hand around her throat, applying light pressure to her jugular. Beads of sweat dotted her breasts as she came, falling limp as Negan continued pounding into her, pulling out just in time to paint Desa’s lower stomach with pearls of white. 

Negan rolled onto his back, raising one knee as he steadied his breathing. The dead silence that followed was enough to nearly put Desa to sleep - her limbs were exhausted, pinpricks of pleasure still jolting through her body.

“That was…good. Great,” Desa turned her head, face flushed. Negan chuckled and she corrected herself, adding, “An understatement, I know. It’s hard to form words right now.”

“I have that effect on people. Or, better yet, my dick has that effect on people,” Negan turned his head, flashing crisp, white teeth. 

“I don’t have a reply to that.”

“A laugh would be nice.” 

“Those have to come organically,” Desa grinned back, rolling onto her side and facing Negan. “I can give you a compliment, though. You’re handsome. And I really like you, uh, ‘fucking’ me.”

“I like it, too.”

“Can we…do it again?”

“You’re really asking me that?” Negan draped hand across his forehead. “Fuck, baby. You’re gonna wear me the fuck out.”

 “Good. You’re just going to have to keep up.”


	12. Chapter 12

Desa slept like a baby. It was the first time in almost a year since she got some form of deep, relaxing sleep, her body sated and a bit sore from the sex — she didn’t mind. When she opened her eyes, she could still feel Negan’s arm draped across her torso. He was snoring lightly, eyes twitching beneath closed lids. Only when his breathing hitched and he gave a low whine did Desa slip from beneath him. She watched as his facial muscles contracted, teeth clenching together. 

He was having a nightmare. Desa recognized it — she’d had to calm Jack down several times. The only difference was that Negan was much, much larger and stronger than Jack. 

Negan gave a low groan, falling stiller. Desa observed, waiting until she felt he wasn’t going to lash out, before placing a hand against his bare shoulder. 

“Negan,” Desa shook him. “Negan?” 

His eyes snapped open. Desa pulled her hand away and Negan groaned once more. He lay, staring at the ceiling before mumbling, “ _Shit_.”

“Morning to you, too,” Desa flopped back down, chuckling. “You were having a nightmare. A pretty vocal one.”

“I fucking saw  _him_. _Again_. It was like a replay of what happened down in that  _goddamn_  sewer,” Negan grunted. Desa placed her hand against his shoulder once more, trying to show that she was listening. 

“Is it because he’s still out there? Alive?”

“I don’t fucking know. I’m not a goddamn therapist. The shit is fucking complicated and fucking  _embarrassing_ —”

“It’s not embarrassing. Negan, you don’t have to be tough all the time.”

“I do for my men. They all know what happened. That shit spread like a wildfire,” Negan said harshly. “If they saw me whimpering like a fucking pussy, who knows how they’d see me? Not as the big-dicked, badass leader of he Saviors, that for sure.”

“You want to be a character? Is that it?” Desa lifted her head. “You don’t need to put on a show for people to respect you—”

“It’s too late to go back. This is who the fuck I am to my people,” Negan glanced over to where Lucille rested against the desk. “The risk of changing shit far outweigh the benefits.”

“You can be vulnerable around me. You already have been. Because I’ve been vulnerable around you.”

“I will be when I’m ready. I’m not fucking there yet,” Negan slipped from the bed, giving Desa a view of his bare backside. She snorted, remaining on the bed while Negan dressed. He said, “We shouldn’t stay here long.”

“I’m not going back there.”

“What?”

Desa sat up, running fingers through her hair. Negan, now clad in his pants, stopped to look at her. Desa said, “I know it’s probably been suggested to you. This place, this mansion, it’s already fully operational and pretty much stocked. It would make a good outpost—”

“ _Fuck_  no—”

“Think tactically. Put everything else aside. I know Father hurt you, and that there are memories attached to this place — It’s the same for me. The biggest insult to Father and Mother would be taking what belonged to them, and claiming it as your own. That’s what we should do. Make it so they could never come back here.”

“And what about you?”

“I’ll stay. I know the grounds, I know every nook and cranny. I’ll oversee the operation and make sure everything runs smoothly,” Desa explained. “Negan,  _please_. It’s better for the both of us. I know how you run things, I know how you operate back at the Sanctuary. I know you’re not going to change, so it’s better if I’m _not_  there.”

Negan sighed, shoulders sagging. In a rare admission of compliance, he said, “Okay. Okay, fine. That shit will work. I’ll send Simon with a crew and he’ll help out.”

“Thank you, Negan.”

“I trust you, Desa. I fucking do, and I know what your capable of. So I expect you to get shit done.”

“I don’t fuck people who I don’t trust, or like. Consider whatever you want, done,” Desa crept to the edge of the bed, pushing herself onto her knees. Negan’s arms snaked around her waist, while hers slipped around his neck. His kisses were desperate, needy. As were Desa’s.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful.”

“So are you. Now get dressed — I’m making us both breakfast.”

* * *

“Why is your bat named Lucille?”

Negan nearly choked on his glass of water, coughing while Desa awaited an answer. She’d sprung the question after they’d ate, hoping Negan would be a bit more compliant with food in his stomach. The glare he sent her way was enough to tell her that she’d been wrong.

“I named her after someone I fucking knew. That’s all.”

“That’s pretty ambiguous.”

“It’s meant to be. It’s a sob fucking story and not one I’m in the mood to tell,” Negan leaned back in his chair. “Hell, there’s still stuff I don’t know about you.”

“Like…?” 

“Little tidbits of your life before everything went to shit. Why the fuck you stayed with Mother and Father for so damn long…” 

“I wasn’t at all interesting before the world went to shit. As for the second part, I stayed because we were given food and water, and Jack was relatively safe. Anytime that boy saw a biter, he’d climb a tree. He would have died out there.”

“It’s a damn shame I never got to meet him.”

“You would have liked him,” Desa smiled sadly. “What’s done is done. I can’t be like I was when Mom and Dad and my sister died. I can’t.”

Negan stared longingly, ducking his head when Desa lifted hers. “You said to me a while ago…that you don’t feel shit. You just deal with it. I know that feeling.” 

“It’s the only way to keep yourself from going crazy.”

“Yeah,” Negan said distantly. He was looking at something behind Desa — something through the window, though his gaze was off. In a quiet voice, he said, “ _Don’t fucking move, Desa_.”

Desa’s shoulders went rigid, and she remained deathly still. Still peering past her shoulder, Negan murmured, “There’s someone fucking watching us. Right against that tree near the courtyard. I can fucking see them.”

“Just one?”

“So far, yeah,” Negan said. He finally looked away, gesturing of Desa to stay seated while he stood, grabbing his dishes and placing them in the sink. 

“The truck is parked out back.”

“Good. Go to it,” Negan said, scrubbing his plate. “There’s a handgun in the glove compartment—“

Their watchers gave them no time to move. Glass shattered behind Desa and she screamed, falling to the floor. Ceramics plates shattered, and the wooden cabinets became peppered with bullets. Desa kept her head down, crawling beneath the table while Negan slipped into the hallway. 

“ _Desa! Go to the fucking car_ —”

Gunfire erupted from the right side of the house. Desa heard the chandelier shatter and fall with a tremendous crash to the ground. Voices echoed around the building. 

“Go,” Negan hissed, drawing his own gun. “Fucking  _go_ —”

Desa made a mad dash towards the back porch, bursting through the door and onto the grass. The truck was parked on the wraparound driveway — as Desa wrenched open the door, she immediately popped open the glove compartment, pulling out the handgun. 

The windows shattered from a barrage of bullets. Desa peered over the hood, raising the weapon and firing. Her attacker — a silent, masked figure, toppled. 

Negan burst out the door, Lucille in hand. The moment he leaped into the passengers seat, Desa inserted the keys and floored it. They tore out the open gate, ducking as a final bullet destroyed the back windshield. 

“Shit.”

“That’s an understatement,” Desa let out a breath, the roar of the wind causing her eyes to water. She glanced over at Negan, letting out a small chuckle. “No time for fun anymore, right?”

“No time to let our fucking guard down,” Negan spat. He raised one gloved hand to his forehead, adding, “You think those were Father’s guys?”

“They had masks, so I couldn’t recognize them,” Desa said, easing off the gas a little bit when she realized that they weren’t being followed. “I don’t know how many of Father’s people survived. I looked at all the bodies in the courtyard…not everyone was there.”

“They’re fucking _stupid_  if they think they can take the Estate back,” Negan said. “Father is fucking  _stupid_. Once we figure out where they all are, we’ll fucking kill them—”

Negan’s words were abruptly cut off when a van careened into the center of the intersection, slamming hard into the side of the truck. Whatever glass remained shattered. Desa experienced the brief sensation of being airborne while strapped to her seat, mouth open as she let out a scream. 

The truck landed on it’s roof, the metal crumpling beneath the asphalt. 

Silence.

Desa could see out the window — the van’s hood was crumpled, but the truck had taken the force of the hit. She turned to Negan — his eyes fluttered and he shook his head, looking dazed and confused. The moment he realized what had happened, he cursed.

“Where’s the gun?”

Desa craned her neck. She extended an arm, grasping the handgun from when it had fallen. Her ears were ringing and her limbs were shaking. A pair of boots stopped next to the flipped vehicle, and Desa raised the gun, taking aim while Negan began struggling to remove his seatbelt. 

_Still wearing a seatbelt during the end of the world?_

_Safety first._

The boots didn’t move.. Negan stopped, tilting his head to the side. Then, in a quiet voice, he said, “Holy fuck. Those are my boots.”

“I know. They fit me well,” the figure got onto it’s knees, and Desa angled the gun. She heard an audible click come from behind her, sighing when she felt the cool barrel of a rifle against the back of her head. The figure said, “If you even point that weapon in my direction, I’ll kill you. Lower the gun, Desa. Let’s talk.”

Desa dropped the gun. It clattered against the upside down ceiling of the car. The rifle against her head eased back a little, but she could still feel the barrel brush her hair. Whoever it was, they were crouching, poking the weapon through the destroyed window. 

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Negan growled. The moment Father’s head popped into view, Negan lashed out, fingers clawing at his face. Father drew his head back, smiling with amusement. 

“I abhor foul language,” Father said. “There’s no reason to curse because you can’t make your point.” 

Negan glared. 

Father walked around the car, forcing Desa to turn her head as he rounded on the drivers side door. He knelt once more, and Desa could only snarl. When he reached for her, she opened her mouth and attempted to snap off his fingers.

“You always liked to bite,” Father murmured. “We’ll have to fix that as well. Amy, round them up. We need to get back before the sun sets.”


	13. Chapter 13

Darkness.

Negan saw nothing. His eyes were covered by a thick cloth — he was relying on his hearing and sense of touch more than anything. He could feel the car cushion beneath him, hear the sounds of shuffling weapons. He stopped speaking, stopped cursing. It wasn’t doing him any good. He had no clue whether or not Desa was even in the car with him.

“Keep his eyes covered,” Father — he was in the passengers seat. The car rolled to a stop. The doors opened and rough hands gripped Negan, yanking him from the vehicle. He was tugged and thrown, barely able to keep his balance. He heard a door slam shut behind him, along with jeers and shuffling feet.

“Uncover him.”

The cloth was yanked away. Negan blinked several times, glancing at the floor beneath him. A long-dead disco ball hung from the ceiling, though the others globed lights were on and shining. The pair of abandoned roller blades resting on the bench beside him told Negan all he needed to know.

Well, _most_  of what he needed to know.

“Where’s Desa?”

Father appeared next to him. The moment Negan lunged he was retrained, a gun pressed against the back of his head. He finally relaxed, but not after a fruitless struggle. It was infuriating, having Father just within his reach, but unable to do anything.

“Desa is none of your concern. She’s back where she belongs — with us.” 

“Then why the fuck did you bring me here?”

“I thought we could hash out an agreement,” Father said nonchalantly, taking a seat on one of the benches. “Mothers body isn’t at the Estate, nor did she show up a the rendezvous point. The only plausible explanation is that _you_  have her.”

“What kind of deal are you trying to make, huh?”

“I’ll return you safely, if Mother is given back to me.” 

“And Desa?”

“We  _keep_  her.”

“You mean you’ll  _kill_ her,” Negan spat. “I know how you little shits operate. You can’t fool me. She’s not staying with you limp-dicked fucks, and you aren’t getting Mother back. She’s _dead_. I fucking strangled her myself. So  _fuck you_.”

Father’s jaw tensed. He tilted his head to the side, standing. He and Negan locked eyes before Father delivered an uppercut so hard that Negan’s head snapped back.

“ _Negan_!” Desa shrieked from across the rink. A shaggy haired, tall man was guiding her from the back door to the front, muscles straining as he held her back. Her cries were not cries for help, but cries of concern.

Father gestured with his finger, saying, “Bring her here, Drake.”

About nine of the Estate residents remained. Most were armed, and they didn’t seem to unhealthy or run down. Negan had no clue if the skating rink had become their new home, or if it was only an outpost and there were others nearby.

All seemed indifferent to Desa’s yells. Her hands were restrained, and her captor — Drake — seemed relieved to finally let go of her. She fell against the carpet, hard.

“This is how things are going to go,” Father said, kneeling next to Desa. Negan’s blood boiled the second Father’s hand began stroking Desa’s face, the pad of his thumb tracing from her jaw to her temple. “You and I are going to fight. Winner takes all.  _Including_ her.”

Desa thrashed wildly, hissing and spitting as Father’s people dragged Negan to his feet. He was thrown onto the wooden rink, and one of the men tossed Lucille in with him. A crowd had gathered along the padded barriers, including Desa — she had a gun pressed against the back of her head.

_Shit._

Negan grabbed Lucille, stumbling back as Father entered, wielding a machete.

Father was already at an advantage - he was stronger. Negan had yet to gain back all the muscle mass he’d lost during his time in captivity. Even now, he was fatigued.

Father spread his arms, as if inviting Negan in for a hug. “Don’t be shy.”

Negan lunged, intending to bring Lucille down atop Father’s head — it didn’t work. Father slipped out of the way, brandishing his machete and swinging it toward’s Negan’s neck.

Negan went to leap out of the way, but his feet slipped — a move that might have actually saved his life. The blade of the machete ruffled his hair and he landed on his rear. A second later, the machete was flying towards his face and he made a split-second decision to parry the attack.

_With his hand._

The blade slipped through his palm and emerged out the other end. Hot blood splashed down his arm. The pain was searing, and he grit his teeth to keep from screaming.

Father chuckled, smashing the sole of his boot against Negan’s face. The sharp end slipped free and this time, Negan raised Lucille to keep the weapon from piercing his chest. He moved out of the way and swung Lucille, crippling Father’s kneecap with a single blow.

Father shouted. Negan lost his grip on Lucille, the handle slippery with his own blood. He let the bat roll, throwing his entire weight against Father.

The shouts and jeers of the onlookers increased. Negan grappled with the machete, grunting as Father threw back his elbow and caught Negan in the jaw. The machete flew from his grip, and the sight of it skidding across the rink floor was enough to give Negan a burst of energy. He grasped Father’s arm and pulled, hearing the cartilage tear and the shoulder pop from it’s mooring. Father roared, and as Negan increased his hold, he heard Desa shouting.

_“He’s got Lucille! Negan—”_

Father, wielding Lucille, slammed the blunt end of the bat into Negan’s gut. The initial shock of the hit gave Father the upper hand, and in a split second, Negan was overpowered.

His head hit the floor, the impact so hard that it caused his ears to ring. Desa’s screams were muffled, along with the familiar and sudden sound of gunfire. The jeering, yelling bystanders began scrambling in fear. Some returned fire, only to be gunned down. Father used Lucille as if she were a rock, delivering fast, blunt blows to Negan’s face, breaking his nose and sending blood cascading past his lips. The more muffled things became, the more Negan realized that he was about to die. Father was killing him. The gunfire, the shouts, didn’t matter.

Father dropped Lucille, wrapping his fingers around Negan’s throat. The moment he began to squeeze, Desa was on him. Father bucked back in surprise, shrieking as Desa’s nails clawed at his skin, her teeth like knives as they bit into the flesh of his shoulder.

“ _Desa_?” Negan croaked.

The girl held onto Father like a lifeline, her small body practically draped over his shoulder as she kicked and punched and bit. Unable to stand due to his busted leg, Father toppled.

The gunfire stopped. Hands gripped Negan, lifting him into a sitting position.

“ _Hey_ ,” Simon waved a hand in front of Negan’s face. “Look at me.  _Negan_. Look at me—”

“I’m fuckin’ fine,” Negan garbled through a mouthful of blood. He couldn’t see out of his left eye — it was already swollen shut. He turned and saw Desa, still driving her fists into Father’s face. Negan wheezed, words nearly unintellegable, “Go stop er’. Don’t let er’ kill em.”

Simon obeyed. Desa was no match for him — even as she was lifted away from Father, she continued to kick and shriek before a sharp yell from Simon made her go limp.

Negan looked around. His saviors were holding the remaining members of Father’s group at gunpoint. He saw Arat at the forefront, gun trained on Drake. Father groaned, but fell still. Negan could see the rise and fall of his chest as he lay, unconscious.

“Des’,” Negan murmured. He reached for her, and the girl fell against his chest. His bleeding hand came up to stroke her hair. When Desa pulled away, Negan could see the tears in her eyes.

Desa and Simon helped Negan stand, supporting his weight between them.

The shaggy haired man, Drake, was the first to speak.

“Are you going to kill us?”

Negan glanced around. He saw what was left, defenseless men and women, cowering. They were more perturbed by the Saviors than the bodies littering the floor.

“T’his all of ya’?” Negan slurred. When Drake nodded, he sighed. “Shit…”

“Give us the word and we’ll end it,” Arat said, inching closer to Drake. The man closed his eyes, letting out a breath.

Negan glanced over at Desa. She met his gaze. Without even speaking she was able to hint that she would comply with whatever Negan requested.

“N’body else has to fuckin’ die,” Negan announced, voice firm despite the fact that he could barely speak. “ _All_ of ya’… can come back to the Sanctuary. You’ll ‘ave a home there. No more Father, no more Mother.  No more  _fear_. That’s my final and only offer.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Follow the light…good…good — definitely concussed. Possible swelling could occur as well, and we don’t want that.”

Desa watched as Carson flipped off the flashlight, tucking it into his pocket. He gestured for Negan to sit up, handing him back his shirt. With Desa’s help, he was able to slip it over his head.

“I’ll be back with some pills. Try not to strain yourself, Negan,” Carson said, his voice taking on a pleading tone. “ _Please_. Try and take it easy.”

“When have I not?”

Carson huffed and left. Desa immediately leaned over to press a kiss against Negan’s parted lips, sighing as Negan returned the act with vigor. 

“We’re in the clear,” Desa said softly. “For now. All I want to do is…be with you. I know you have your wives—”

“Not  _one_  of them has come to fucking see me,” Negan replied, as Desa reached out to trace her thumb across his swollen eye. “So I don’t think they mind what the fuck I do in my spare time. Or _who_  I fuck.”

Desa smiled. “Are we still going through with the Estate plan?”

“I’m alright with it. Simon is going to be fucking pissed — it was his idea first place, and I shot that shit down. I was too scared. I was focusing on the shit that went on before, not thinking logically…”

“Even after all that, you’re content with leaving Father alive?”

“For now,” Negan said, the bitterness in his voice clear. “I’ll have my fun with him. Make him wish he’d never fucking done the shit he did. That fucker is going to be _begging_ for death by the time I’m through with him.”

“Will it help?”

“Will what help?”

“Keeping him alive,” Desa said softly. “Is it good for you to keep Father alive like this?”

Negan narrowed his eyes, and Desa turned her head away. His words were not condescending, though there was a hint of bitterness in them. “I don’t enjoy causing people pain, Desa. Fuck. I didn’t _enjoy_  burning the fuck out of Dwight’s face — but  _this_? This I’ll fucking  _savor_.” 

Desa ran a hand down her face, nodding. She knew she wouldn’t be able to deter him. She only hoped that he wouldn’t get to caught up in his revenge, and that she wouldn’t eventually join him. The sight of Father still made her blood boil, and she feared that even seeing him would unhinge her. 

Negan went to stand, but Desa stopped him.

“You need to stay sitting—”

“I’m just going up to the fucking parlor. Too my room,” Negan sighed. He grinned suggestively, intertwining his fingers with Desa’s own. In a soft voice he said, “Come up with me.  _Please?”_

“I have no desire to stay with your wives.”

“I’ll tell them off. They don’t fucking come into my room unless I ask,” Negan murmured, pulling Desa close and pressing his lips against the top of her head. One hand slipped beneath Desa’s shirt, tickling her hip. “You aren’t going to the Estate yet. Let me fucking spend time making you feel good.”

Desa smiled. “I’ll give in. For you.”

* * *

They ignored the hushed whispers of the wives, closing the door to Negan’s room. He hobbled slightly, sighing as he kicked off his shoes and eased onto the dark bedsheets, flopping onto his back. Desa watch the rise and fall of his chest, uncrossing her arms and hopping onto the bed next to him. She watched Negan close his eyes, a devilish idea striking her — she eased up his shirt, exposing the trail of dark hair that extended down to his crotch. The moment she went for his belt, he lifted his head and smirked.

“ _I’m_  supposed to be fucking  _you_ ,” he murmured. Desa shushed him with her lips, her other hand easing his pants past his hips. He was erect by the time she wrapped her fingers around his cock, prompting Negan to sigh into her mouth. He sat up, grunting as Desa lightly squeezed. 

“Get to it, then,” Desa replied. 

“Fine,” Negan wrapped an arm around Desa’s waist, easily spinning and pinning her beneath him. He remained knelt between Desa’s legs, making an effort to go slowly as he stripped, starting with himself before moving to Desa. 

The moment her jeans were removed, Negan’s lips were ghosting across her skin, from her ankle to her calf, down to that sweet spot between her thighs. With two fingers, he pushed her panties to the side. He murmured, “Have you ever had a man do this to you?”

“No.”

“Fucking good. Jesus, your tight little cunt tastes  _sweet_ ,” Negan flicked his tongue against those sensitive bundles of nerves, chuckling when Desa gasped. He did it again. Then again, burying his face between her legs and lapping up whatever he could. Desa squirmed, unused to the feeling. It didn’t long for her breathy groans to start forming syllables, begging for more. Begging for  _him,_  even as he drew out that last drop of pleasure. 

Desa’s body fell limp, and she let out a breath. Negan lifted his head, looking satisfied. The moment Desa tried to sit up, he stopped her, saying, “You don’t have to give anything back. I wanted to do this for you.”  
Negan crawled next to Desa, resting his head against the pillow next to her. The soft mattress enveloped her in warmth, and Desa felt her eyes getting heavy. She shook her head to remain awake, blinking several times as Negan watched.

“When was the last time you rested, Desa?” Negan asked. “I don’t think you’ve fucking slept since…we were back at the Estate.”

Still coming down from her high, Desa replied, “I’m okay, Negan.”

“You can stay in my bed,” Negan murmured. “Fucking rest a bit. I’ll be back.”

Desa watched as he stood, tugging up his pants and fishing for his shirt. She met his gaze, smiling warmly — he returned the gesture. 

She was asleep before he even left the room, eyes closing and sending her into a dreamless slumber.

* * *

“How does it fucking feel? Last time, _I_  was fucking tied up,” Negan knelt, tapping Lucille against the ground. The cell that had once held Mother now held Father. He was tied, arms extended above his head in the same position Negan had once been in. His lips were caked with dried blood, his face bearing evidence of the fight, much like Negan’s. He looked far worse, however, because he’d received little medical attention.

“Are you going to inflict the same degree of torture? And if so, what will you gain from it? Vengeance is a sign of weakness.”

“Is that why you got your goddamn panties all in a wad when I mentioned how I strangled your wife? Or, to be more fucking specific, your  _sister_?” Negan leaned in close, raising Lucille and resting her barbed end against Father’s cheek. “Tell me about that. Have you been fucking her since the world ended, or did that shit start… _before_.”

Father tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. Negan kept a firm grip on Lucille, his heart beginning to pound. A small part of him wanted to end Father, right then and there. His curiosity, and his desire to watch Father break was stronger.

“Nothing from  _before_ matters. Nothing  _now_  matters — we’re  _dead_.  _All_  of us,” Father murmured. “I saw this as an opportunity to experiment. To explore. It just happened to turn into something bigger.”

“It’s all an experiment to you? Desa? Your sister? Those people in the fucking cellar?” 

Father shrugged. The movement was so casual that it caused Negan to snarl. 

“Nothing matters,” Father said. “Not my life, not yours. I desired entertainment, so I created entertainment. Whatever I desire, I create.Just like God created his children.”

“You’re  _caught_ , now. You’re not a fucking god. You’re just a sick, fucked up man who needs to be put down.” 

“Then put me down. I’m ready.” 

“I will, when I fucking feel like it. You’re at my mercy,” Negan sneered. “I’ll kill you, when the time is fucking right.”

“I’ll be eagerly waiting.”

Negan left the cell, slamming the door and standing with his head ducked, angry words flooding from his mouth in sharp mutters. Already, he was feeling disoriented and confused, face flush. He eventually pulled himself together, lifting his head to see none other than Drake, Simon on his heels.

It was the first time he’d gotten a good, long look at the Sanctuary’s new residents — he was one of a dozen. There were more, Desa had told him. Father had a contingency plan for everything. 

Drake had stepped up and become a representative for his people. Or, for what was left. The shaggy haired man didn’t intimidate Negan, though there was a cunningness in his eyes that made Negan wary. 

“Where’s Desa?”

“In my fucking room, relaxing,” Negan rested Lucille against his shoulder, raising his eyebrows. “Why? Am I not fucking good enough for you?”

It took a second for Drake to unpack Negan’s words, head bobbing slightly as he said, “Okay. That’s good…she needs the rest. Listen, I was on scavenger duty when all that shit went down. I come back, and I’m in the middle of a gunfight. I had no idea what was even going on.”

“You want me to feel bad? You  _chose_  to follow that limp-dicked incestuous asshole in there,” Negan jerked a thumb towards the cell. “But whatever puts food on the goddamn table, right?”

“You’re right,” Drake agreed, much to Negan’s surprised. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to survive. So are the rest of the people from the Estate — the ones that are here, and the ones that aren’t. The ones that  _aren’t_? That’s, uh, what I’m here about.” 

“Your group split.?” Simon glanced over at Negan, before stepping closer to Drake. “They aren’t planning some kind of ambush, I hope?”

Drake seemed a bit put off by Simon’s size, and his closeness. He was still able to talk, though his voice trembled in the beginning. “The splinter group that escaped went to somewhere called the Hilltop. We’ve known about the place for a while. Father and Mother don’t ever let us interact with any community we see while we scavenge—”

“Desa sure as hell broke that goddamn rule.”

“That’s because Desa never listens,” Drake  replied. “Anyway, that was our contingency plan. Well,  _one_ of our contingency plans. I can take you to Hilltop if you want, maybe sway my people there. Get them to come back here.”

Simon let out a breath, shrugging. “I can lead a team. Pick up whoever’s left, grab some stash from the locals. Some or a lot. Your call.”

“A lot. You know the drill,” Negan replied. He glanced at Drake, trying his best to sound genuine. He was always putting on a goddamn act — he’d blurred the line between sincere and mocking. “Thank you, Drake.”

“No problem.”

“What about Desa?” Simon asked. “She’s with us. _He’s_  with us,” he glanced at Drake. “It would be good to have the two of them. Help make the argument more convincing.”

“Fucking fine by me. Go fetch her for me, Simon,” Negan dismissed Simon with a wave, before a small cough caused him to turn. Drake was still standing, swaying awkwardly on his feet.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Fucking shoot.”

“Are you and Desa together?” Drake cringed at his own words. “Intimately, I mean.”

“Why? You like her?” Negan flashed a grin, a devilish idea flashing through his mind. “I don’t fucking blame you. She has some nice tits, round ass…the sweetest pussy you’ll ever fucking taste.”

“I…I know. I’ve seen her naked.”

Negan’s face fell. He stared blankly as Drake continued to run his mouth.

“You know…most of us have. The ones that get invited to Mother and Father’s room as a ‘reward, a least,” Drake toyed with his fingers. “I was just asking. I was curious. I shouldn’t have been curious, I’m sorry.”

“No…don’t be. Shit.  _Shit, shit, shit_ ,” Negan turned away, squeezing his eyes shut. That urge to open the cell door, walk in, and pound Father’s head into a pulp with Lucille returned. Negan shut it away before he made the mistake and acted rashly. When he turned back around, Drake was a few feet farther away. “Listen, kid, for _both_  of our sakes, let’s not talk about any of that.”

“I’m sorry. I…I don’t know how to talk to people casually. When I’m planning things, focused, I can say whatever I want. It’s weird.”

“We’ll fucking work on that. You’ve become  _very_  fucking important, Drake,” Negan slapped him on the shoulder, chuckling. “I trust you. I trust that you’ll do the right fucking thing.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good. Now get to it.”

Drake hurried off — the sound of boots padding against the floor caused Negan to turn. Desa approached, head tilted as she warily watched the back of Drake’s head. Her gaze then shifted to the cell door, and she said softly, “Is he in there?”

“Yeah. You don’t need to see him,” Negan extended an arm, stopping her before she could make a move. “I’m fucking serious, Desa.”

“He _hurt_ you.”

“I know. And I’m fucking hurting him right back,” Negan ducked his head, meeting those doe, brown eyes.  _God_ she was beautiful. “ _Trust_  me. I have a job for you — Desa. I have some shit I need you to do for me.”

“What is it?”

“Some of your people survived. They went to some place called…Hilltop, or whatever the fuck it is. You, Drake and Simon are going to take a group and round them up for me, then go set up the Estate outpost. I’ll come by if I can.”

“Letting me leave the house for once. That’s atypical of you.”

“I know you can handle this shit. Plus, you’ll be with Simon,” Negan smirked. “He likes you. Not as much as I like you, but he fucking likes you. He’ll watch your back.”

“What if I want you watching my back?” Desa murmured. She snaked her hands around Negan’s waist, sliding beneath his jacket. He could feel her warm breath against his neck — he grunted, and he could have sworn his dick went from flaccid to rock hard in a nanosecond. 

“I know you’re capable. That’s why I’m trusting you — I’ve got shit to run.”

“Wives to sleep with?”

“Hey. Knock that shit out,” Negan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Desa rested her cheek against his shoulder, still holding on. Negan returned the gesture, stroking her hair with his hand. He murmured, “They ain’t shit compared to you.” 

“Why do you stay with them, then?”

“They rely on me, and I rely on them. Sucks, but that’s how this shithole of a world is. Don’t dwell on it. I think of you when I’m with them, anyway,” Negan glanced down and found himself gazing into Desa’s brown eyes. He smiled sheepishly, shaking his head. “Shit. I need to stop talking.”

“Somewhat. But not altogether — I’d miss the sound of your voice.”

“Fucking flirt,” Negan smirked, pressing a kiss atop Desa’s head. He angled his hips, murmuring against her skin, “You feel that?”

“We don’t have time—”

“You leave tomorrow morning,” Negan replied, dipping his head and capturing her lips before she could say anything else. When he pulled away, he breathlessly added, “We have  _all_ fucking night.”


	15. Chapter 15

_“God, you’re fucking beautiful.”_

Desa had never experienced someone worship her body the way Negan did. He took his time, unpacking each part of her— her breasts, her lips and neck, his ass, everything. Any attempts to return the favor were met with a steely gaze and a sharp tug to the hair.

Negan’s free hand worked away at Desa’s clit, fingers pinching and massaging the bundle of nerves before snaking to Desa’s hip. He was on his knees, Desa facing forward and seated in his lap. Their clothes lay on the floor, Desa’s shirt in tatters. She hadn’t even gotten a chance to properly scold him for ripping it.

She didn’t have time to care further. Negan was biting into her shoulder, guiding her as she swiveled her hips. Negan attempted to steal but Desa stopped him, kissing him to stifle her groans as she clenched around him. He followed shortly after, erratically pumping his hips before slowing to a lethargic twitch.

Desa, arm wrapped around Negan’s neck, let out a breath. She was facing the door to his room, and over his shoulder, she caught a glimpse of bright blue eyes and blonde hair — Amber — peering through a small crack in the door. The girl disappeared before Desa could say a word.

Desa flopped onto her back, watching Negan roll off the condom and toss it into the trash. He knelt between her legs, the pads of his thumbs gently massaging the skin just above her hipbones.

She grinned at his heaving chest and tussled hair. The thought of Amber touching him caused her nerves to flare. The thought of  _any_ of those women touching him made her irate.

“You spoil me,” Desa murmured. Without thinking, she drawled, “Do you love me?”

“No.”

“Is it because I’m damaged?”

“You’re not fucking damaged, Desa. You’re not a fucking monster, either. That’s  _not_  why I don’t love you.”

Desa sat up, eye level with Negan. She analyzed him, eyes narrowed, eyebrows drawn close together. She lifted a hand, brushing her fingers against his cheek. “You and I are the same. We can’t feel, unless we try. I know there’s love in you, Negan. There was no love in Father and Mother, but there is in you—”

“There was. That shit is gone now.”

“I said the same thing.” 

Negan ducked his head. In a tired voice he said, “That’s where me and you aren’t alike. There’s a reason, Desa. You’re going to be disappointed in me no matter what the fuck I do — I can’t please you the way you fucking want me to.”

“I’m not asking you to drop everything for me. I’m asking you to be honest with me.” 

“I’m being fucking honest, Desa.”

There was no coaxing it out of him. The stern look on his face told Desa that she didn’t need to prod any further. Instead she rested her head back on he pillow, sighing. She heard Negan speak his voice hoarse.

“I don’t know what the fuck you think it is we have…it’s not love. You’re lying to yourself if you think you love me. You were fucking hurt, and I was there. I still am. Just not in the way you want me to be.”

“I was foolish for wanting more. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do shit,” Negan murmured. Desa felt the bed shift as he stood, heading towards the shower.

They bathed and dressed, barely speaking. Negan did not usher Desa from his room — instead, despite what he’d said earlier, he let her stay. Probably because of the nightmares, but Desa didn’t implore. Sometimes he pushed her away, sometimes he didn’t and needed her for the night, when he’d wake up yelling. His wives were of no help in that department.

Desa slept better with Negan, although tonight, she lay wide awake, wrapped in his embrace. Maybe his hold on her was wearing off. Maybe he’d been right — maybe she was just latching onto him, using him as a coping mechanism. She knew it to be true on Negan’s side — there was no reason for him to keep her in his bed and in his thoughts. When he healed, he would just cast her aside —

_No. He won’t. He can’t._

_He won’t ever heal. Nobody does. Not really — they just pretend._

_Negan is an excellent pretender._

Desa wondered if he’d always been that way. He was jaded, like her. He didn’t know true happiness. Only suffering.

“You’re deep in thought.”

Negan’s eyes were open. Desa hadn’t even felt him change positions, one arm draped over her waist.

“I do that occasionally. Late at night.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“All the possible futures. The past — but only a little bit.”

“Possible futures? More than fucking one?” Negan flashed those perfect white teeth, noticeable even in the dark. “Fucking tell me about it.”

“There’s a future where you tell me who Lucille is. Where you lead the Sanctuary like a benevolent leader. Women don’t have to come to you for protection. You never have to burn another mans face.” 

“Sorry to rain on your parade, but that shit sounds unlikely as fuck.”

“There’s a future where we all die. Horrifically. But somehow Father lives,” Desa murmured. She felt Negan flinch. “Then there are the cookie-cutter, lame ones. Run of the mill happy-endings. The tragedies outweigh the happy endings…”

“You think this shit will end in tragedy?” Negan snorted. “Fuck no. I’m not dying, and neither are you. So cut that shit out. Stop thinking up sad scenarios. You’re gonna make  _me_  sad.”

Desa smirked. She hoped, even with the lack of light, Negan could see it.

Snuggling into Negan, Desa murmured, “Right. You won’t die. Because I’ll be here to keep you out of trouble.”

* * *

The merry Hilltop gang consisted of Drake, Desa, Simon, Laura, and about six Saviors whom Desa had never met before. She had no time to introduce herself, no time to learn names. They were off, first thing in the morning, trucks loaded, weapons locked.

Desa could see Negan in the rearview mirror. Simon drove next to her, oddly silent. The moment Negan was out of sight and Desa relaxed, Simon seemed to let his guard down — he gave a tired sigh, glancing over at Desa.

“You, uh, okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I hope you know,” Simon said, “You can confide in me about anything. I’ve been told that I’m a  _superb_  secret-keeper.”

“I’m sure you have.”

“I’m serious. I won’t tell a soul — unless concerns some ploy to take down Negan, or harm a Savior…you understand that, though. There are some thing I can’t let slide and there are some thing Negan doesn’t  _have_ to know about. For example, personal problems. Specific issues like that.”

“You think I have some personal problems?”

“You barely ate any of your breakfast which _I_ , by the way, prepared. That’s unusual. I had to eat the rest so it wouldn’t go to waste — I haven’t seen you pass up an opportunity for food yet. That’s a  _clear_ sign something is wrong.”

“My stomach hurts.”

“You’re not acting like your stomach hurts.”

“How would I act like my stomach hurts?”

“By uttering the words ‘my stomach hurts.’”

“I just did that.”

“Yes, but only when I asked about your unusual behavior. That’s a sure sign that someone is trying to hide something,” Simon waggled a finger. “You’re going to have to work harder at fooling me.”

Desa groaned, resting her head against the window. After a few moments she gained a burst of courage, sitting up straight and saying, “Does Negan love any of his wives?”

“ _No_ ,” Simon looked at Desa as if she’d asked the stupidest question in the world. “Is that what you’re upset about? The wives? If you decide to join them, you won’t have any competition. Trust me.”

“That’s not why I’m upset. I’m…discouraged by his lame attempt at seeming shallow.”

“I mean, he  _is_  shallow. Can’t be too concerned nowadays. Or bothered. There’s not many deep, philosophical things to care about anymore,” Simon drove steadily, scowling. The moment he looked over at Desa, however, his face lit up. “I make an effort to surround myself and invest in art. Along with culinary-related activities.”

Sighing, Desa said quickly, “Negan said that you like me.”

“‘Like you,’?” Simon scoffed. “This isn’t middle school. Although I would be lying to myself if I denied that I do find your personality intriguing. And appealing to the eye.”

“I find you appealing to the eye, too. Your personality could use some work, though,” Desa replied.

“Har har. Very funny. But seriously — I’d love to get to know you better. Maybe a nice, candlelight dinner? I cook, you show?”

Desa was torn. Simon’s offer was serious - he wasn’t laughing, wasn’t smirking. Negan wasn’t the issue here. Desa wasn’t sure if attempting to move on was smart — a small part of her knew that, deep down, it wouldn’t matter. A part of her had latched onto Negan, with no sign of letting go.

Despite that, Desa said, “Sure. Dinner sounds great.”

* * *

Hilltop was a beautiful, thriving community. The moment Simon and the following caravan stopped their trucks at the gate, Desa felt anxious. The massive house on the hill reminded her of the Estate. The place was unknown territory. She prayed the beautiful scenery wasn’t concealing anything sinister.

Simon hopped from the truck, while Desa stayed seated. She heard Simon shout up to the guards, and the guards shout back. After a few minutes, Simon was back in the drivers seat and the vehicle was lurching forward, rolling onto the dirt path leading to the ornate mansion.

The place had a vast garden, cows, chickens…it was similar to the Estate, but the place lacked that ominous feeling. The people, the ones farming and sitting with their families (or what was left of their families) didn’t look tortured or tamed. They all, however, lifted their heads as the caravan rolled to a stop.

A balding, older man approached as Simon leaped from the truck, Desa following suit. The man surveyed the group, raising his eyebrows in alarm when Simon strolled right up, extending his hand.

“Sorry for intruding. Nice place you’ve got—”

“Listen, we don’t have room for any more strays. We’re short on resources already—”

“That is not what I’m here for. I’d very much like to finish my introduction,  _please_ ,” Simon said through gritted teeth, a smile still plastered across his face. “I’m Simon. I’m a…representative of sorts. For a higher, greater cause.”

“Gregory,” the man shook Simon’s hand, a look of confusion still stapled to his face. He said slowly, “Welcome to the Hilltop. I’m the one in charge, here. Do you, uh, want to come inside?”

“Of course,” Simon smiled sweetly. He gestured for a few of his men to stay,  before beckoning for Desa and Drake to follow. The warm interior of the mansion was a welcoming sign — it was beautiful, from it’s dangling chandelier to it’s painting, velvet carpets…Desa was busy ogling at the architecture, until Gregory’s voice tugged her back into reality.

“I hope you understand, Simon, that this is my turf. These are my people — I’m willing to work with you, maybe help you find another place to settle close by. But I’m not allowing any more people inside these walls—”

“I told you, that’s not what I’m here for,” Simon said forcefully. “We’re here to collect. Not everything — _half_. People and produce. Drake and Desa over there know that you recently accepted a small group of stragglers inside this fine community.”

“We want them back,” Drake said mildly. “I mean…not the produce. Well, I guess the produce. I wasn’t told about that part.”

_I was._

Desa glanced away as Gregory stared incredulously, stammering over his next words.

“The people I could care less about. But…half the produce? We’re struggling already—”

“I saw a lot of people sitting around out there, not working, not  _grinding_. I’m sure it’ll work out for you, all you have to do is try,” Simon slapped Gregory on the shoulder, chuckling. “I apologize for not being… _delicate_ with things, but time is short. I’ve made my point, now it’s time to collect.” 

“We can work out a deal — both sides can benefit—”

“You’ll benefit. We’ll protect you from any… _undesirables_  that decide to infringe upon your beautiful settlement.  _Trust_  us. I know it’s hard, but it’ll all work out.”

Gregory’s blabbering went unheard. Simon pushed through the double doors, exiting the buildings, letting out an ear-piercing whistle. The saviors stood at attention while the residents of Hilltop stopped working. Desa saw people she recognized — kids, Jack’s age. Myra, the laundry woman. Kent. Stacey.

They came forward with caution. Drake was beaming, while Desa had her head ducked. The ten approaching figures looked just as confused as the other Hilltop residents, who lagged behind, unsure.

Drake stepped forward, attempting to quell any doubts. “Father is imprisoned. We have him. Everyone is free…the rest of us escaped the rink. We’re at the Sanctuary — that’s where we live, now. If you come back with us, you can live there to. They have food, shelter, everything.”

“You’ll be safe,” Desa added, when she lifted her head, several people recoiled at the sight of her. She’d forever be a traitor — those that revered Father and Mother would probably never fully trust her. She’d brought upon them nothing but ruin and death.

_And freedom._

_Yeah. Keep telling yourself that._

“Start rounding things up,” Simon said. The saviors hopped from their posts, dispersing amongst the community. The Hilltop residents watched, some stepping to intervene, only to find themselves shoved to the side.

_These people can’t fight._

The saviors were easily outnumbered, but from the look of things, none of the Hilltop residents possessed any firearms — save for two handguns she saw, one tucked into someone belt, the other clutched tightly in someone hand. The rest were all unarmed, scared, cowering.

“You’re paying your dues,” Simon announced. “We’re taking half of your things, and in exchange, we protect you from the big bad unknown. You’re welcome.”

 _“Half?_ ”

“ _We’re low on resources already! You can’t just waltz in here and steal_ —”

“You want to debate that point?” Simon crossed his arms, attempting to add some height to his already intimidating stature. Desa rolled her eyes, intervening.

“Stop it. No point in arguing anything — it is what it is, people. And trust me, you don’t want to fight it. Now, are the rest of you coming back with us, or staying here?” 

No votes were taken, nothing was tallied. The former Estate residents unanimously slid over to Drake’s side, more inclined to go with the group who possessed the most weapons. It was a habit.

Desa had been keeping an eye on Firearm Guy #1 and his cohort, and the minute she saw his pale hand fly to unholster his weapon, she reacted. She was a quicker draw, yanking out her gun and, without hesitation, blasting a hole clean through the guys forehead. He toppled, his own weapon flying from his fingers. Children and adults alike screamed, ducking to the ground.

Simon cursed, hand slapping against his own firearm. A dreary silence hung over the group, and Desa saw Gregory staring, mouth agape at the bleeding corpse before him.

“He just tried to kill me,” Simon stammered, eyes darting wildly back and forth between Desa and his slain attacker. His voice rose in volume, words garbled and filled with rage. “Oh, no, no, no. That’s  _not_  going to happen—”

 _He_  was a quicker draw than Desa. His gun flew from his hip to his hand, discharging before Desa could say a word. A nameless Hilltop woman dropped, and this time, Desa screamed.

“ _Simon!”_

She planted a hand on his chest, shoving as hard as she could. His next shot missed, the bullet sailing into the open sky. Several saviors pointed guns at  _her_ , while the rest controlled the crowd.

Simon’s face was flushed, and he was panting. Desa reached up to grip him by the shoulders, saying, “Calm down. These people are nothing if they’re dead,” lowering her voice, she hissed, “Negan believes that. Nothing matters if all these people are dead.  _Stop_.”

She knew it was most likely useless — Simon could snap her in half like a twig. She probably looked pathetic, having to stand on his tiptoes to really get a firm grip on him. Nonetheless, it seemed to work. She saw him visibly calm, quickly sliding his gun back into it’s holster.

In a gruff voice, he called to the crowd, “We’re done here. Anybody coming with us, load up into the trucks,” he turned to Gregory. “We’ll be back in a week or so to collect. Make sure you have everything.  _Really_  make an effort,  _Gregory_.”

Gregory was hardly able to speak, eyes bugging out of his head, fists clenched, shoulders slouched in defeat. He didn’t put up a fight and instead nodded sheepishly, like a schoolboy being scolded for bad behavior. Desa engrained that expression into her brain, intending to keep it there.

_This is why Negan does what he does._

_He makes people like that…worth something._

Did she believe that, truly? She didn’t know. The caravan peeled from the Hilltop, vehicles packed with new residents. New workers. New soldiers.

For the first time, she felt like a conqueror.


	16. Chapter 16

Desa could forgive Simon’s outburst. She was looking forward to dinner — especially since she wasn’t the one cooking. They rode to the Estate in silence, only stopping to bid farewell to Drake and the rest of his people. They’d head to the Sanctuary, escorted by the remaining Saviors.

The plan had fallen together seamlessly. Cars were parked in front of the Estate, and the fence had already been patched, windows boarded up — a Savior named Primo was heading the small endeavor. He greeted Simon and Desa with enthusiasm, naming all the work that had been done.

More than a dozen saviors resided at the Estate, now. Desa would always be in awe at the amount of people Negan had, each loyal and dedicated. The vast size of his group gave Desa some comfort. She’d finally found a place that cared more about rebuilding than just surviving.

“We have plenty of supplies for the redirect,” Primo explained. “With the way this place is positioned, and with how close the Satellite station is, we’ll have no trouble stopping the herd before it gets too close to home.”

“Redirect?”

“We use explosives, any sort of noise, to steer away any herds we might see. Keep as many of those deadbeats away from us as possible,” Simon said. He shrugged, adding, “It works, but it’s not easy. Having this place will alleviate some of the difficulty.”

Desa smirked, brushing past Primo. She immediately headed to her old room, bypassing saviors, in somewhat of a daze — the place was slowly transforming from the inside out. It felt foreign, now. She was surrounded by all these new people, watching her old home as it was being refurbished. Not to say that she’d enjoyed her time at the Estate, but…

_You never liked complete change._

Simon stopped her before she could even climb the stairs, placing a hand on her shoulder. He said sheepishly, “Uh, I’ll see what I can find to eat. I’ll fix it up, bring it to your room? That way we have some privacy?”

Desa ducked her head, chuckling. She nodded and said, “That would be great. Second floor, last room on the left.”

Simon’s smile was wide, and he practically bounced down the stairs. She prayed nobody had decided to occupy her former room, and when she opened the door, she was relieved to see that it was empty. The cot she and Jack had shared, the dresser and quaint table, were there. Desa shut the door, reducing the sounds of shuffling feet and barking voices to a muffle.

Jack’s birthday candy lay on the table. She saw it, half eaten, scattered across the dark wood surface. It was old and sticky, but she left it.

Desa removed her jacket. Her boots went next, then her gun holster, along with her knife. She felt bare, but the feeling was nice. She sat against the wall, resting her eyes.

When she opened them, Simon was peeking through the door, a tray in hand. He glanced around, his eyes falling on Desa.

“Food,” Simon said bluntly. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Desa replied tiredly. “Sorry I didn’t light any candles or put on any music.”

“That would imply that this was a date,” Simon raised a finger. “I don’t like the ‘D’ word. Far too mainstream.” 

“I’ve never heard that before.”

Simon grinned, gently closing the door. He placed the tray of food on the floor before Desa, crossing his legs and taking a seat across from her. He seemed a little too enthusiastic, which Desa attributed to nervousness.

She said, “Simon. Calm down.  _Please._ ” 

Simon’s smile faltered and he grunted, “Sorry. I haven’t been in this type of situation since…before.” 

“Don’t worry. I understand,” Desa bit into her food. “I’m the last person ever going to judge you. It would be hypocritical — my lack of social skills is quite obvious.”

“They aren’t nearly as bad as they could be. You could go the Negan route — mask them behind crude language and swagger.” 

“Not my style. I’d rather be open about it.”

“Same here.”

“Are you just saying that so it feels like we have more in common?”

“We do have more in common, and no I’m not just saying that. You’re a great asset to the saviors, and you’ve proven yourself to me, and to Negan. Not only do I respect you, but I like you. I genuinely like you. And I don’t like most people.”

Desa pushed the tray of finished food to the side, rising onto her knees so she could shimmy forward. She dared a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure that the door was shut.

“You do understand that Negan and I have slept together?”

Simon stiffened, saying slowly, “I suspected it, but I didn’t think…is this going to be a problem?”

“He doesn’t love me,” Desa said sadly. “He told me. And that’s okay.”

Desa hated how whiny she sounded. Something was snapping at her from within, and it didn’t take her long to figure out what it was.

Guilt.

It stuck out like a sore thumb. She saw the pity swimming in Simon’s eyes, and she realized that she’d subtlety manipulated the man. She wasn’t okay. She was devastated. She wanted him, and Simon was the next best thing that would make her feel some semblance of safety.

Before she could even speak, Simon was kissing her — his facial hair tickled her skin, and she instinctively leaned into it, sighing into his mouth. With her free hand she shoved the empty tray against the wall. She aggressively shimmied out of her pants and undergarment, leaving everything from the torso down bare. No foreplay was involved, just heavy breathing and stolen kisses. She heard Simon groan the moment Desa’s hands wrapped around his cock, giving it a few gentle strokes before pressing the head against her barely slick entrance.

It stung — partly because of his sheer size, and partly because she wasn’t wet enough. However, she continued, and Simon’s nails dug into the bare skin of her hip as he leaned so he back hit the floor, allowing Desa to lower herself onto him. She welcomed the pain, teeth grit as she felt her backside flush against his thighs. Her slick coated him instantly, and as she increased her rhythm, the stinging began to lessen. Simon’s palms slid from her hip, beneath her shirt to palm her clothed breasts. She could feel his fingers pulling at the material, desperate to rid her of it, but she hissed pinned them above his head, dipping down, brushing her mouth against his.

“No.”

She kept his hands like that, riding him until she reached her peak. When she crawled off, sated, hand wrapped around Simon’s cock, she felt bad. Bad for using him.

“Finish me off with you mouth,” he grunted. Desa obeyed, pushing the musky head past her lips, sucking until she felt the muscles of his thighs tense and his dick swell, before her mouth became filled with the salty liquid. She swallowed it all, wiping her mouth vigorously.

She didn’t crawl and lay against him after. She collected her clothes, sliding them back on while Simon just lay there, chest rising and falling, cock softening against his clothed thigh. A minute passed before he gathered himself, tucking himself back into his pants.

“You might want to fix your hair. You went in clean — walk out that way,” Desa flashed him a smile. “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.” 

“I guess we’re not doing this again?”

“What did you come here for, Simon?”

The man hesitated. Desa saw reluctance behind his dark eyes, and after a long sigh, he said, “I don’t know. Suppose I wanted…that more than I wanted you. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“I did. Because I felt the same way,” Desa rose to her feet, and Simon did the same. She stepped closer, having to tilt her head slightly so to meet his gaze. His brows were furrowed, though not with anger or confusion or hurt.

“This was fun Desa,” Simon responded. “I enjoyed it. I really did. I needed this — I think you needed this, too.”

“I did.”

_You know who you want, now._

Desa hugged him. He stiffened, before slowly wrapping his arms around her. Simon held her for a few moment, and when Desa detached, she gave him a warm smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Then he was gone. Desa kept the door shut, sliding down the wall, hugging her knees to her chest. No more busting feet, or the sounds of hurried activity. For the first time she had a moment to herself, and she was enjoying it—no matter how brief.

And brief it was.

Desa lifted her head to the sound of three hard knocks. The door opened before she could even stand, and one of the Saviors, Paula, — a woman with shoulder length red hair and a resting scowl on her face, entered. She held a heavy walkie in one hand, and she didn’t look as if she’d arrived for a friendly chat.

Without introduction, she said, “Sanctuary just called. Negan needs you — it’s an emergency.”

“He needs me?”

“Just you. That all I’ve been told — that, and for you to hurry,” Paula watched as Desa frantically scrambled to her feet, retrieving her bag and gun and knife. “Just take one of the trucks. The roads are clear.”

“Just me?”

“Just  _you_ ,” Paula answered. In a stern voice, even as Desa brushed past her, she called, “Just go. Now.”

Desa ran.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: some gross gory shit in this chapter.

Negan laid out his tools — a blunt knife, some industrial pliers, a soft rag, and for him, a bottle of whiskey. All the while, Father was watching, chained up with a grimace on his face. Lucille lay against the wall, well out of his reach. The room was large enough that Negan could crouch at a safe distance.

Father broke the silence.

“May I ask what you plan on doing to me?”

“Your boy Mason, back at the Estate — he tried to cut my fucking eye out. Desa stopped him,” Negan lifted his head. “You remember that shit, right?”

“I do. A shame Mason was unable to finish the job.”

“He wouldn’t shut the fuck up and do it. Apparently he likes the sound of his own goddamn voice too much.”

“And you don’t?”

“I don’t blabber bullshit. Words hold meaning, but only if you use them fucking correctly,” Negan rolled his eyes. “Words are what got me this fucking place. These people. Can’t say the fucking same for Mason, now can we?”

“Words and what else?”

“Death. But it was deserved,” Negan snarled. His hand wrapped around the knife, the handle cool against his skin. “Just like what I’m about to do to you is fucking deserved.”

Father threw his head back and laughed, unintimidated. That enraged Negan more, but he couldn’t act. Sweat broke out along his brow, and he grit his teeth as Father lurched forward, pulling the chains holding him taut.

“You are magnificent.”

Negan recoiled. Admiration, as well as a hint of desire dripped from Father’s voice. His shoulders slackened, and Negan inched forward. He lifted the blade, lightly pressing the blunt end against Father’s cheek.

“Who are you?”

“Father—” 

“No,” Negan snapped. “What the fuck are you. What is your name? And what was her name?”

He angled the knife. A slice appeared, a little rivulet of blood dripping from the incision. Ignoring the cold sweat, Negan dug the knife deeper until Father was flinching away in pain.

“You would be disappointed.”

“I’d rather be fucking disappointed than ignorant. What are your names?” 

“Clare,” Father answered through gritted teeth. “That was her name.” 

“And yours?”

“I’m still alive. I still matter. She does not,” Father twitched, blood dripping from his cheek, down his neck. Negan had pulled the knife away in an attempt to steady his trembling hands. In fact, his whole body was trembling, and he could hear his own heartbeat.

“Look at you,” Father drawled. “I broke you. You’re traumatized because of what I did. You’d do better to kill me — save yourself from what’s to come.”

Negan tossed the knife away, hands scrambling for the pliers. He could barely pick them up, and in a fit of range he bellowed and grabbed Lucille, standing on shaking legs.

Leave. It’s not worth it. Leave.

“You don’t deserve death. That shit is too fucking easy,” Negan gathered his tools, watching the blood flow in a steady stream down Father’s face. “I’ll find out who the fuck you really are. I’ll make you suffer because you deserve to suffer — and I’ll make sure everyone knows that’s your not a god, or a father. You’re a fucking man.”

Father tilted his head to the side, smiling.

“Good luck.”

Negan was barely able to shut the door. It was as if his own body was betraying him — limbs didn’t want to do what they were told, and it felt as if a million ants were crawling across his skin, each mimicking the touch of Father’s tongue against his skin. He was back in that sewer, strung up on display. In a smooth motion, Negan slumped against the wall, Lucille in his lap.

Even his eyes didn’t want to work.

Negan was aware of Gavin yelling his name. His head jerked to the side and in a sharp voice, he was able to croak, “Call her.”

“Call who—”

“Get her here. Desa. I fucking need her here, Gavin. Go. Get her here—”

“You need Carson—”

“I said fucking go get Desa before I fucking bash your goddamn skull in!” Negan snarled. He could barley see Gavin’s reaction, but he heard the sound of static and Gavin’s frantic voice as he obeyed Negan’s orders.

The passage of time meant nothing to him. He wasn’t even really sure where he was anymore. He stared blankly at the wall until he felt a presence beside him.

“Negan.”

Someone was stroking his hair. He couldn’t find the energy to respond.

“It’s me, Desa. You’re okay. You’re safe. I’m here, and nothing is going to hurt you. Nobody is going to hurt you.”

She must have reassured him a thousand times. He was beginning to come back, beginning to feel his fingers move and his limbs begin to cooperate once more. Lucille slipped from his lap, rolling across the floor.

“I think you had some sort of…panic attack or a seizure of some kind,” Desa murmured. “Can you stand? We’ll get you out of the hallway—”

Still staring blankly at the grey wall, Negan muttered, “I can fuckin’ stand.”

He did, but slowly. Desa picked up Lucille for him, graciously gathering the fallen tools and shoving them into her bag.

“We’re going to see Carson,” Desa explained. Negan didn’t have the energy to resist, so he allowed her to guide him to the infirmary. To his relief, Carson was the sole occupant — he stood the moment Negan and Desa entered, confusion etched on his thin face.

Negan’s fingers twitched, the voices around him muffled. He was more in shock than anything else, gently lowering himself onto one of the cots. He blinked rapidly as Desa knelt in front of him, a cup of water in her hand.

“Drink this,” Desa said. Negan obeyed, glancing up at Carson.

“What the hell is wrong with me?”

Carson grimaced. “It’s nothing serious. Desa explained what happened. You’ve most likely suffered a non-epileptic seizure. After…extremely traumatic events, or periods of extreme stress, the mind can just…shut down. In laymen terms, it’s similar to a panic attack, but much more intense. There’s no medication I could give you. For some people, they come and go and come again.”

Negan murmured to himself. When he looked down, Desa’s fingers were intertwined with his. He said nothing, drinking his water while Carson continued to speak.

“That man…Father. I’d advise that you stay away from him. For your own health.”

“No can fucking do, doc,” Negan drawled. “I’m not letting that fucker get to me. I can deal with this shit. If there’s nothing you can do for me, why the fuck am I here?”

Negan pulled his hand free from Desa’s grasp, gulping down his water and wobbling out the room. He heard Carson call his name and Desa angrily rise from the cot, perusing him. Negan ignored her words, yanking open the door to the parlor and strolling past his lounging wives. None of them paid him any attention, more concerned as to why Desa was following behind him than anything else. The moment the door slammed shut, Negan stopped.

“Negan. Look at me.”

He did. He turned, and his heart nearly soared at the sight of Desa’s beautiful face.

You don’t love her. Stop trying to convince yourself that you do.

“You have to stop this. Let me kill him—”

“No. Death is too fucking easy for him. You and I both know that,” Negan responded. “He has no one. He’s fucking alone, and he’s going to stay in that cell until I’m finished picking him apart piece by fucking piece.”

Desa ran a hand down her face. She sat on Negan’s bed, feet dangling over the edge.

Negan sighed. He began removing hits boots and his jacket in silence. He then offered Desa his hand, glancing over at the bathroom. Making the best of the situation was the only way to keep sane, he decided. His body craved the woman sitting on his bed, and he wasn’t one to deny himself that. Desa seemed to feel the same way, and she took his hand without hesitation.

“I’m taking a fucking shower, then passing the fuck out. I want you to stay with me. Go back to the Estate tomorrow morning — it’s too fucking late for you to be driving out alone.”

Desa smiled, but to Negan’s confusion, pulled her hand away. In a soft voice, she said, “There’s something I need to do, first. Just wait for me.”

“I’ll always fucking wait for you.”

Stop.

Stop acting like you love her.

You don’t.

That voice in the back of his head was poking and prodding, louder than ever. He watched Desa leave, head ducked. He wasn’t strong enough to scream at the voice to stop, yet. He hadn’t felt anything since Lucille’s death — not a hint of anything other than primal lust towards his wives. At one point he’d believed Simon was becoming a contender, but those feeling had worn as off as quickly as they’d come.

Now she was here, and he was unsure.

But he was falling for it anyway.

Desa made her way to Carson, first. She felt bad for interrupting him a second time — he wasn’t working when she entered the room, standing next to the door.

“I need you for something.”

“What is it? Is someone injured?”

“No,” Desa replied. “But they’re about to be. C’mon.”

She ignored Carson’s twenty questions as she made her way to Father’s cell. Negan’s tools were in her pocket, and she kept a stern face as Carson, for what seemed like the hundredth time, asked what was going on.

“Stay out here. When I come out, you go in and fix him.”

“Does Negan know you’re here?”

“No. He’ll find out, though. I’m not worried about that,” Desa removed the outer deadbolt, opening the door and flicking on the light. Father stared back at her, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the harsh glow of the bulb above.

Carson went to speak, but Desa shut the door. She ignored Father — he was staring at her, observing her with his head tilted to the side at an almost unnatural angle. The moment Desa raised her head, he spoke in a taunting voice.

“Did your infatuation survive his episode? I certainly didn’t mean to cause him any distress.”

“Shut up.”

“A rude way to great your father. I should have spanked you more,” Father’s head lolled to the side. A long streak of dried blood had accumulated on his cheek, evidence of a knife wound. “I would have enjoyed it.”

“You would have,” Desa murmured, pushing his jeers to the side. She prepped the pliers, moving almost in a daze. She got close enough to feel Father’s breath on her skin. He strained against his chains, snarling.

“I can’t kill you. I’m not allowed,” Desa said slowly. Father fell silent, watching her with narrowed eyes. “But I can send you a message. God forbid you ever get out of here, or get a chance to hurt anyone in this compound…Negan especially…just know that I will not only kill you, I’ll cut you limb from limb and serve the remains to the biters on a silver fucking platter.”

“Empty threats,” Father snorted. He bared his teeth. “You’d never followed through. You don’t have the guts to do anything to me—”

In a fluid motion, Desa gripped Father’s jaw. She held tightly, nails digging into his skin. He thrashed wildly, and Desa threw her weight against him. His back hit the floor, arms held above his head.

“Negan isn't your worst nightmare. I am,” Desa snarled. It frightened her, how monotonous she sounded. How her heart wasn’t beating fast and her limbs were shaking. The knife came first, unsheathed and dipping towards Father’s left eye. She started at the crease, steeling herself for the inevitable screams that would come.

And oh, did he shriek.

Desa’s free forearm was braced against his throat as she worked, peeling away the skin of his eyelid. The other, unmotivated eye was leaking tears, trained on Desa and filled with ire. Ignoring the noises and the curses, Desa increased her pace, choosing speed over delicacy.

“Did Jack scream like this when Mother lobotomized him? What about all those other people in the cellar?” Desa murmured. She winced at the sound of crunching cartilage. Fluid and warm, sticky blood coated her fingers, making it much more difficult to toss aside the knife and grab the plier. Father chose the opportunity to buck up, attempting to bite Desa’s arm. With a howl, Desa shoved him back down.

She couldn’t help but cringe. The jarring movement had caused his eyeball to slip from its mooring. Dark, sinewy tendons held the small, fleshy sphere from falling all the way out. One half of Father’s face was covered in a cascade of blood, his mouth open in a silent scream of agony.

Desa grabbed the pliers, shoving them into the gaping hole, clipping away at whatever she could fine. Finally, with a slick pop, the gooey gumball-size object landed in her open palm.

Father’s good eye was wide and watching. He couldn’t speak, but Desa knew he could see — his iris twitched, following Desa’s every move.

The human eye was much smaller than Desa anticipated. It fit snugly in her palm with more than enough space to spare, malleable and soft.

“Nod if you can hear me.”

Father nodded. Desa held up his eye, letting him get a long, hard look at it.

“I’d cut off your dick, too, but I’ve already given Carson enough work for today.”

When Father attempted to look away, Desa slapped him. He snapped back into focus with a sob, and that was when Desa did something she never thought capable.

She slipped Father’s detached eyeball into her mouth. Saliva bubbled past her lips as her body naturally rejected the object, but she forced herself to chew and swallow, gaze unwavering. 

“I think you get it now. I hope you do.”

Father had already passed out by the time Desa had gathered her tools. She opened the door, greeted by a pale Dr. Carson. He said nothing to Desa, slowly entering the room and closing the door behind him.

Desa didn’t dare avert her gaze from anything other than the path to Negan’s room. She walked quickly, taking long strides. There was blood on her hands and face and shirt, something she’d become accustomed to.

When she entered the parlor, it was Sherry who attempted to speak to her. Desa brushed her off, shutting the door to Negan’s room in her face.

“That’s fucking harsh, De—what the fuck?”

“Told you it wouldn’t take me long. I didn’t kill him,” Desa said. “He’s alive. Probably wishes he wasn’t.”

“What did you fucking do?”

“I saved you time, Negan” Desa began stripping, slowly peeling off her bloody shirt. This time, after removing her clothes entirely, she was the one to extend a hand. “I really need that shower now.”


	18. Chapter 18

A week passed. A week of around the clock shifts at the Estate that left Desa burnt out — on the rare occasions that Simon showed up, some of the workload was relieved. But not much. Not enough.

The transition had been quick and effective. Desa slowly starting to realize that, without Simon constantly around, the residents of this particular outpost were looking at her for guidance. They came to her with messages and drop-offs and questions. At first Desa wondered if it had to do with her familiarity of the Estate, but after a while, it turned into something much more.

She was in  _charge_  of his outpost, and it’s almost two dozen residents, and she hadn’t even known it.

“Pickup at the Hilltop is today. Simon told me you’re welcome to join,” Paula cracked the door to Desa’s room slightly, smiling.

“Is he already here?”

“Downstairs, waiting.”

Desa sighed, thanking Paula before slipping on her shoes and grabbing her bag. She tiptoed down the stairs, pushing through the double doors. Simon waved, and Desa grinned. The moment she hopped into the truck, he was asking her questions.

“I heard there was an emergency back at HQ. Everything okay?” 

“Everything’s fine. Just…some stuff Negan and I needed to take care of. With Father,” Desa glanced at her lap. The truck lurched forward, and Simon braced one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on his thigh.

“You didn’t kill that son of a bitch, did you?”

“Father? No. Negan wants him kept alive so he can…draw things out. You know how Negan likes to do things.”

“Unorthodox, but effective. Some things have to be done,” Simon reached down and shifted gears, grunting as he did so. “I can’t speak on yours or Negan’s behalf, though. I wasn’t there. I don’t know what that asshole did to you.”

“You don’t want to know. He’s the last one. I just…I know Negan wants revenge. He wants Father to suffer. But I…I don’t know how good that is for Negan.”

“Something happened during that emergency, didn’t it?”

Desa sighed, running fingers through her short locks. She glanced over at Simon, asking, “You’re Negan’s right hand, his closest friend here…I’m trusting you with this information. I want it kept between us.”

“Okay, hit me.” 

“Carson said he suffered a non-epileptic seizure triggered by extreme trauma and stress. He’s messed up, Simon. He’s not coping.  _He can’t_.”

“He seems to be doing a mighty fine job to me.”

“ _Simon_. What if it gets  _worse_? What if he has a breakdown and isn’t able to lead, what then? What happens to him?”

“He’ll come back.”

“You sound positive about that.” 

“I am. Negan is mighty good at what he does. That act he puts on? It’s fooled me more times than I can count, and I’ve known him the longest. The  _facade_  is all the people need,  _not_  the man.” 

“They don’t need both?”

“The common masses will fall for anything,” Simon chuckled. “Who knows? Maybe Negan will crack open Father’s little act. Expose him for what he is.”

_You already know what he is._

“Maybe so,” Desa murmured. “Maybe so.”

* * *

“You’re three boxes short, _Gregory_.” 

“We harvested all we could. Crops aren’t exactly consistent…sometimes you get more, sometimes you get less. It’s a _volatile_ process—”

“I  _know_  about farming,” Simon raised a finger. Soon, his voice followed. “But I will be generous and let you off the hook. That being said, my guys are going to take a look around your study. See if there’s anything that looks appetizing.”

Gregory stammered, but eventually led Simon and his men towards the home. Desa followed, keeping her distance.

The interior of the home, as always, was ornate and beautiful. Simon analyzed the paintings on the wall while the saviors began boxing up anything that look particularly interesting — which wasn’t much. Mahogany tables, artwork, leather furniture…she almost wanted to ask Gregory how he’d found this place, but she didn’t. She wandered into one of the rooms — yet another study, though this one was smaller and seemed rather empty, save for the small desk and drawer in the center.

Out of curiosity, she began opening each one by one. Old documents, tattered and aged, began piling up on the desk. The last drawer had only a map and a red pen. She unfurled the paper, squinting and studying the surface.

She had an almost identical map back at the Estate, but this one was etched with red circles and scribbles, detailing landmarks and, from what Desa could make out, different communities.

_Alexandria._

_Kingdom._

Desa tilted her head to the side. The most glaring was a scribbled question mark, circled multiple times in red ink, right across the lines that represented train tracks. It wasn’t far — just a few miles from Hilltop, it seemed. Desa glanced around the empty study, before folding the map and shoving it into her pocket.

She bypassed Simon and Gregory as they were chatting about this that and whatever — Desa rounded back, tapping Simon on the shoulder.

“I’m taking one of the trucks, heading out,” Desa lowered her voice to a whisper, aware that Gregory was watching out of the corner of his eyes. “I think they might have hidden supplies along some train tracks. I think. I’ll go check it out, see what I can find, and then meet you back at the Estate.”

Simon shrugged. “Fine with me. Just make sure the pickup isn’t shit.”

Desa nodded. She was aware that Gregory’s beady eyes were watching her, and she briefly heard Simon make mention of it, followed by Gregory hastily explaining that, no, he wasn’t “checking her out.”

Desa smiled to himself, strolling down the dirt pathway. She tossed her bag into the passengers seat of one of the trucks, sliding inside. She pulled through the gates, glancing in the rearview as Hilltop became smaller and smaller.

With one hand, she tugged the map from her pocket and shook it open. Her eyes briefly followed the lines, and she craned her neck, peering for any familiar street signs.

The drive was long and silent. She stuck to the roads, not risking a detour. She gave a sigh of relief the moment she reached what she believed to be the train tracks, immediately spotting the anomaly — the train had derailed. Freight cars stuck upright, each and every way. The crash had send some careening into a ditch, while others lay on their sides. Desa couldn’t see where the train ended, but no matter how hard she squinted, she couldn’t see the end.

She parked the car, gently shutting the door before retrieving her bag. The closer to the derailed train she got, the more anxious she became. Birds chirped, leaves fluttered in the wind. She yanked her knife from its sheathe, raising it slightly, creeping towards the first train car. The stench of corpses hit her immediately, and she cringed, pressing forward. She rounded one of the train cars, taking careful steps. A walker was snarling, thrashing, it’s lower half tapped beneath the toppled train car. Desa swiftly moved in, crouching and thrusting the knife into its skull.

Desa took her time, hoisting herself into each train car. The first was empty, along  with the second and third. The fourth contained what looked to be ammunition boxes. All of them were empty.

Freight car ten was where she saw the first sign of danger. The car had slid down into a steep, muddy ditch, and lay tilted. She crept, inching forward to peer through the slightly open door.

It was pitch black. She cursed, clutching the handle of her knife between her teeth and rummaging through her bag. She pulled out her flashlight, flicking it on before reaching down and gathering a small rock from the ground.

She tossed it forward. It sailed into the train car, and she heard it bounce and ping against various objects, before coming to a stop. A moment later, a distinctive snarl could be heard from within.

“Shit.”

Desa hoisted herself up, walking alongside the edge of the car. The sliding door had been opened just enough to let her throat, and after shining her light in to make sure there wasn’t any immediate danger, she began slowly easing herself through, head on a swivel.

The snarling was coming towards the back of the train car, and when she turned, the light illuminated a biter, growling and wildly thrashing its arm. It wasn’t moving — it  _couldn’t_  move. A large, heavy box trapped it against the wall.

The biter was dressed in military garb from head to toe. Bulletproof tactical vest equipped with a walkie and a pistol, along with several clips of ammunition.

She had no idea how long it had been trapped. It’s face was mostly bone, covered in a thin layer of flesh and cobwebs. It’s dead eyes were on Desa, and she couldn’t help but look away.

The vest, along with everything on it, she wanted. She grunted, placing the flashlight between her teeth once more. She stepped forward, close enough that she felt those clammy, corpse hands pull at her clothes. She struck the walker in the forehead, yanking her knife free.

Desa worked on shoving the box out of the way, allowing the corpse to topple. She began picking it clean, first stripping the biter of its shoes, and then vest, then helmet.

_Sgt. Holloway_

Desa saw it on his clothes, clear as day. She paused for a moment, glancing down at the corpse. Whatever sentimental thoughts she had ended the moment she began looking around the freight car, shining the light in a circle.

Eight individual boxes were stacked and labelled, painted with dark letters. Desa approached cautiously, crouching down so she could read the fine print.

_MGM-140 (ATacMS)_

_HANDLE WITH EXTREME CAUTION_

Everything from the labelling, to the deceased soldier, told Desa what she needed to know.

The eight boxes in front of her contained military grade missiles.

Her walkie talkie buzzed, nearly scaring Desa out of her own skin. She bit back a curse, slamming her thumb on the button and raising it to her lips.

“What?”

“You done?” Simon’s voice filtered through, scratchy, but intelligible. “It’s almost dark. You should be getting back.”

“I’m almost done.”

“Find anything useful?”

Desa closed her eyes, pressing the walkie against her lips. She stared at the boxes, then back at the corpse behind her. In a soft, disappointed voice, she said, “Just some guns and ammo.”

“That’s useful,” Simon replied cheerfully. “I’ll be anxiously awaiting your return to the Estate. Drive safe.”

“Thanks, Simon.”

Desa shoved the walkie back into her pocket, before slinging the tactical vest over her shoulder. She moved briskly, emerging from the freight car and into the cool, evening air. The sun was dipping below the trees, almost out of sight completely.

Like the drive there, the drive back was silent. The vest and gun joined her bag in the passengers seat, while she’d slipped the helmet over her hair.

There was point in them knowing. No point. Desa knew Negan was bloodthirsty — but not cruel. And Simon’s unhinged mind wouldn’t be able to handle such a revelation.

_If you don’t use them, someone else will._

_But you don’t know how to use them in the first place._

Desa let out a breath, before abruptly slamming on the breaks out of instinct. Her eyes drifted to the sky, to the long tendril of smoke floating through the air. She saw the entrance to the Estate just at the end of the road.

It was burning. The Estate was  _burning_.

Grabbing her bag, along with whatever she could find in the vest, she stumbled out of the truck. After a few steps she broke into a run, her brain in overdrive as she raised the walkie to her lips.

“Simon. Simon, answer me. What’s going on? Where are you?’

No reply. The sound of fire was deafening. Support beams cracked and crumbled, glass melted. The beautiful building was caving in on itself, consume by flames.

“ _Simon_ ,” Desa breathed.

Static.

Desa saw them before they saw her — a group of figures, illuminated by the light. All of them were armed.

She dove into the trees, shouldering past an approaching roamer before turning and thrusting her knife through its skull. Once again she pleaded, speaking into the walkie.

“Simon. Simon — Simon!  _Answer_ me!”

Static, and then the slightest caught followed by a familiar voice. “I’m flickering my flashlight — see me? I see you. To your left.”

Desa’s head whipped to the side. Through the thicket of trees she saw the faintest glow of a flashlight. She bounded over, pushing past bushes and branches.

Simon lay on the group, tucked away against a hollowed out fallen tree. He winced the minute Desa’s own flashlight hit him, his eyes flickering towards the deep laceration above his right collarbone. The front of his shirt was saturated with blood, and his face was gaunt and pale, beads of sweat marking his brow.

Desa’s blood ran cold. Hoarsely, she asked, “Are you bit?”

“No. Just a bullet,” Simon grunted, easing himself into a sitting position. He stared past Desa, at the burning Estate. “I don’t know who all got out. I think Paula, maybe Michelle. I’m not…” he shuddered, clutching his wound. Desa tore a long strip of fabric from her shirt, kneeling and hastily applying the crude bandage. She could hear Simon protesting, but she ignored him as she attempted to haul him to his feet.

“We have to go, Simon.”

“Hang on, hang on — this  _hurts_ ,” Simon grunted. He was barely able to pull himself up, and Desa was barely able to hold him. He was heavy, all muscle, a stark contrast to Desa lean, compact body.

She could feel his blood beginning to soak her shirt. His head lolled to the side and he groaned, desperately trying to keep himself from passing out.

“Sewers,” Desa breathed. Hefting Simon back up, she said through gritted teeth, “Work with me. Please. We’ll get you to the sewers. There’s a room there — Father’s supplies might still be down there.”

“We cleared it out?”

“Yeah. It should be empty — getting there is going to be the challenge. You can’t pass out on me, Simon. You’re to heavy to carry. Please. Just stay awake — stay awake, Simon.”

He was slipping. Desa could see the sewer grate through the trees.

_“Please, Simon. Stay awake. Stay awake. Please—”_


	19. Chapter 19

“I don’t know where they are. I don’t know if any of them are alive. We have two of the attackers with us — a woman named Carol and a pregnant lady named Maggie. Right now it’s just me, Michelle, Molly, and Donnie.”

“I’ll send a fucking group. Jesus  _fuck_ ,” Negan’s fists connected with the table, hard. He felt the sting, but welcomed the pain. “You’re _sure_  you didn’t fucking see her, Paula? She didn’t roll the fuck in at the last second?”

“If she did, she’s dead. They killed everyone.  _Everyone_. Simon, too.”

Negan clutched the walkie so hard that he felt his fingers begin to pop. Squeezing his eyes shut and turning to face the wall, he said, “Fucking fuck. Fuck. Fuckin fuckity fucking  _fuck_. Take them to the fucking west Outpost, and wait for Cam and his guys to fucking get there.”

“Yes sir.”

The walkie fell silent.

Negan’s roar shook the walls. The walkie flew from his fingers and shattered into pieces as it slammed into the wall.

_They’re all dead. She’s dead._

Negan drained the bottle of bourbon next to his bed. He drained the next bottle in half the time, until he was limping around, Lucille clutched loosely between his fingers. She shoved open the door, stomping across the parlor, attempting to appear decent — but he was wobbly. Sherry said something, but he ignored her. The trek down the hallway seemed much, much longer than it actually was.

The moment he opened the door to Father’s cell, he regretted it. But he entered anyway, stumbling and bracing himself against the wall, closing the door with his foot.

The moment Father lifted his head, Negan smiled.

No amount of gauze or bandages could keep the horrors concealed — splotches of blood had soaked through the wrappings, the liquid crusty and dry against his skin.

“She fucked you up good, didn’t she?” Negan drawled, sliding down the wall like a raindrop. He sat opposite of Father, legs extended in front of him. “Fuck. She fucked. You. Up.  _Good_.”

“All for you,” Father wheezed. It took Negan a second to realize that he was laughing, “You’ve accepted her into this place, but I  _made_ her. Just like I made all my children.”

“You didn’t make  _shit_. You took and you fucking  _took_ , but you never fucking  _gave_ ,” Negan murmured. Meeting Father’s gaze, Negan said, “How did you keep such a large fucking group under your thumb?”

“Take note of this,” Father inched forward, licking his dry lips. “When you strip people of all hope, they become malleable, like  _clay_. The people I found had  _nothing_.  _Desa_  was  _nothing_  — just some stumbling girl with her useless brother. But the moment I gave her bread and fish, she  _worshiped_ me. They all did. Especially the little ones — they were the easiest. They didn’t know any better.”

Negan’s grip on Lucille increased, but he remained sitting. In a low voice he said, “You lobotomized people. Turned them into fucking cattle. How the fuck is any of that civilized? How the fuck is that—”

“I wasn’t  _trying_ to build a civilization. Everything is too far gone. What happened before, what happens now, will not matter. I accumulated all this power because I  _felt_  like it. The people under me became my children. I became a god.”

“I’ll be the first man to kill a god, then. Fuck you,” Negan hacked and spat a globule of spit at Father’s feet. “Right now, your people are mine. They provide shit for me, and I provide shit for them. Not a single one of them gives a shit about you. Not a single one gives a shit that they’re ‘father’ is locked away like the piece of trash he is.”

“It’s their loss. They’ll die. All of them. You’ll die,” Father leaned forward. “I’ll die. It doesn’t matter. The girl? Desa? She’ll die, too. Maybe it’s already happened.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Did she die? Is that why you’re drunk?”

Lucille connected hard against Father’s shoulder. Bone crunched and Father let out a horrendous shriek. Negan, drunk and stumbling, reeled back and hit hard against the wall.

Father continued to scream, and Negan tried to relish in the sound of his pain. He couldn’t. His body didn’t want to be here — he took Desa’s advice and walked away, slamming and locking the door behind him.

He immediately braced a hand against the wall and vomited, chest heaving as he emptied his stomach all over the floor.

The realization was striking him like a freight train. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was him coming to terms with the fact that, after all that talk of solitude, abandonment, he was in love.

Not the sugar and rainbows, ecstatic sort of love. It was different. It hurt, cut deep like a knife. He’d never get to tell her. Never get to hold her. If she was indeed, dead, then Negan feared he might just die along with her.

“Dude —  _holy shit_.”

Negan whipped around, nearly slipping and falling in a puddle of his own vomit. Drake was approaching cautiously, hands raised as if Negan were a wild animal in need of taming. He wasn’t. He tried to articulate that, but all he could muster were a string of mumbled, incoherent curses.

“You’re drunk as shit. Uh. Yeah. I’ll get someone to clean that up,” Drake reached out to steady Negan. “Let me take you back to your room. You need to just…lay down. Drink some water. Do you need to see Carson?” 

“ _No_ ,” Negan barked. “Just fuckin’ take me back to my room. Please. And after, don’t say shit to _anyone_  about this, understand?”

Drake nodded. “Act like it never happened?”

“Atta’ boy.”

* * *

“It smells like utter shit down here.”

“That’s because we’re in a  _sewer_ , Simon.”

“I know. I was just verbalizing that fact.”

Desa helped Simon sit before going to make sure that the door was locked and secure, just in case the undead decided to come strolling.

The chains that had once held Negan were still on the wall. She began searching through each cabinet, pulling out disinfectant, bandages, scissors, medical gauze. They’d once been used to patch up Father’s victims.

“Those people who attacked,” Desa asked. “Who were they?”

“No idea. I was out before the place caught fire. I got out during all the confusion — I was counting crops, then I was going to head out when you got back. Guess we couldn’t have a  _second_ of peace.”

Desa snorted. “Peace is too easy. If you aren’t running around constantly, you’re not working hard enough.” 

“Is that your philosophy, or his?” 

“I’m hardly sure anymore. I didn’t even think I’d ever come back to this place, but here I am. How’s your shoulder?”

“Hurts.”

“I parked the truck about a half mile down the road. If we make a break for it, now, we can get there,” Desa explained. “The longer we stay in here, the worse it will be. And before you say anything, I’m not leaving you here.”

“You read my mind,” Simon grinned. “I hope you don’t mind me going ahead and just saying it—”

“I do mind, because I’m not doing it. We’re getting out here. Together.” 

Desa helped Simon stand, keeping an around his. He could pretty much hobble on his own, though he seemed to be swaying. Desa kept her knife clutched in her free hand, and she heard Simon unholster his gun.

The sewer tunnel was empty, devoid of any biters — for now. Their boots splashed through water, and Desa was already beginning to feel Simon’s weight against her side. His breathing was shallow, eyes glossy. The bare skin of his arm felt clammy and cold.

_Half a mile. Half a mile_

The Estate was still burning, though the group of attackers had disappeared. Desa prayed that they hadn’t found the truck. If they had, it would be the end. Simon would never survive a three day trek back to the Sanctuary.

“On your right,” Simon garbled. He raised his gun and fired — the first shot missed, but the next hit its mark. The corpse fell, and another took its place.

Desa urged Simon to go faster. He did, grunting in pain with each step. Desa’s head whipped back and forth — moans came from within the trees, and the shuffling of feet. She urged Simon to go faster, forcing him into a light jog.

“There’s the truck,” Desa breathed, releasing Simon’s arm and thrusting her knife through the skull of a biter. Simon staggered, nearly falling, before righting himself. Bloody fingers struggled to open the door, and Desa heard the discharge of a gun as Simon began blasting away at the groaning undead.

Desa shoved a biter to the side, ducking as another swiped at her from the side. She took the opportunity to slid into the truck and start it, putting it in reverse and slamming her foot on the gas.

The truck lurched away from the questing biter hands. As she sped away, the side mirror caught a biter in the face and shattered. She cursed, shaking her head before glancing over at Simon.

He’d passed out. The faintest rise and fall of his broad chest was the only indication that he was alive. Desa practically flattened her foot against the gas, speeding down the dark road, mentally trying to convince herself that the situation wasn’t as bad as it really was. Simon’s blood was staining the seat cushion, and Desa’s sensitive nose could smell the coppery odor.

She glanced in the review. The burning Estate was a flickering dot in the distance, disappearing as the car rolled down a slope. Simon twitched, before falling still. His breathing remained ragged and strained.

_Almost there._

_Almost._

* * *

“ _They’re back_!”

Negan lifted his head, wiping drool from his chin. Gavin had burst through, unannounced. He was breathing heavily, and when Negan shot him a caustic glare, he gulped. In a quieter voice, he said, “Negan, they’re back. Desa and Simon.” 

Negan had never rolled out of bed so fast. He’d passed out, fully clothed, in a drunken rage. The pounding headache he had wasn’t keeping him back, and he nearly knocked Gavin over and he pushed past him, out the parlor, and into the hallway.

Gavin followed. “Simon is with Carson. He’s hurt pretty badly—”

“Will he fucking live?”

“I don’t know. Probably. He’s—”

“Where’s Desa? Where the fuck is she—?”

“Right here.”

Her shirt was covered in blood — most likely Simon’s. a camouflage colored military helmet dwarfed her head, nearly concealing her eyebrows. In a swift motion she removed it, giving Negan a brilliant smile.

“Gavin, get the fuck out of here.”

Gavin nodded, hurrying away. The moment he was out of sight, Negan strolled forward, held the side of Desa’s face between his hands, and kissed her. Negan felt her sigh and lean into him, knuckles lightly stroking the growing stubble along his jaw.

When Negan pulled away, looked into her eyes and murmured, “You asked if I loved you, and I said no. I was lying. I was fucking lying to you, and to myself. You deserve better than me, Desa. I love you, but I’m shit…you don’t deserve shit.”

“Negan—”

“I thought you’d fucking died.”

“Hey,” Desa whispered. “I wouldn’t have stayed here if I didn’t love you. You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Negan. You don’t.”

Despite the blood on her shirt, and the dirt on her face, Negan embraced her. She felt her nuzzle against him, arms snaking beneath his jacket to wrap around his waist. He rested his chin atop her head, one hand coming up to stroke her hair.

“You’re home,” Negan murmured against her skin. “You’re fucking home.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: A VERY uh, graphic depiction of rape towards the end.

“Paula and the others are dead. So is the pickup team,” Gavin explained. “Whoever these people are, they’re dangerous.”

“Their leader, isn’t he some prick named…Rick? Rick Grimes?” Negan leaned back in his chair. The table was empty, save for Desa, who sat off to the side, and Gavin. “ _Shit._  Do we know where they’re holed up at?”

Desa said, “Alexandria, or the Kingdom. One of those two. Maybe both,” she shrugged. “I took a map from Hilltop…it has all the closets communities marked down.”

She reached into her jean pocket, pulling out the folded, crumpled piece of paper. She tossed it, and Gavin caught. As he unfurled it across the table, Negan stood and rounded the table to get a better look.

“I know the Kingdom,” Gavin said. “It ain’t them. They’re just a bunch of…weird, crop growing, medieval times cosplayers.”

Desa raised her eyebrows at the description, but remained silent. She heard Negan shift next to her, Lucille propped against his shoulder.

“Alexandria it is. We’ll split this shit up — one group will go secure the Kingdom, everyone else will deal with Rick the fucking Prick, including me. This shit is personal, now. And Lucille is fucking  _thirsty_.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll gather a group and head to the Kingdom.”

“Thank you, Gavin.  _Fuck_. Already one step ahead,” Negan patted the man on the shoulder, beaming. His eyes flickered towards the map, drawn to the circled question mark. Desa had crossed it out with black ink.

“The fuck is that?”

“I saw it, and decided to check it out. It was just some ammo, some guns. I grabbed everything I could,” Desa didn’t meet his eyes. “That’s…that’s how I lived. I was on my way back, and when I pulled up, the Estate was on fire. I found Simon in the woods after that.”

“Carson said that he should be up and able to function in a few days — although knowing Simon’s stubborn ass, he’ll probably be up running the fuck around tomorrow.”

“He’s just as stubborn as _you_ ,” Desa slid onto the table. She saw Negan lick his lips, and she inched her legs apart, so he could step between him. The table gave her some height, bringing her nose to nose with Negan.

“Did you fuck him? When you were at the Estate?”

Desa froze. Negan raised his eyebrows, clicking his tongue. He didn’t appear angry, or even surprised. Desa wondered if he was trying to play her.

“I did.”

“You dirty,  _dirty_  fucking girl,” Negan sucked in a breath, raising his gloved finger and waggling it in front of Desa’f face. “That’s _bad_  news, baby, although I’m not fucking surprised. However, I’d very much appreciate it if you made that shit up for me.”

“You’re hurt by Simon’s masculinity?”

 

“I was fucking  _attracted_  to it, in the past. It’s why I’m much less fucking pissed off — I’d have fucked him, too. But that’s not the fucking point. The point is that now, you’re  _mine_.” 

That same gloved fingers trailed lightly down the slope of Desa’s neck, tickling her skin. She tilted her head back, letting out a small whimper as Negan’s free hand began working away at her jeans. The pads of her fingers swept across her clit, and she bucked her hips, desperate for more contact. Negan wrapped an arm around Desa’s waist, yanking her forward. She could feel his hardness straining against his pants, and, without breaking eye contact, Desa reached down and deftly pulled down his zipper.

“God, I fucking love you,” Negan murmured, his kisses light and delicate. “You gonna let me fuck you on this fucking table?”

Desa smirked. “You’re  _insatiable_.”

“It’s hard not to fucking be,” Negan leaned forward, and Desa chuckled against his mouth.

She quickly free’d his cock from the confines of his boxers, letting out a jet of air through her nose as Negan groaned. She swirled her thumb around the head, pulling away so she could breathily say, “You  _know_  I’m yours. You don’t have to ask. I’m  _yours_.”

Negan responded with a bite to Desa’s throat, before replacing his teeth with his hand. His fingers curled around her jugular, his grip light. Desa’s jeans pooled around her feet, followed by her panties — which Negan ripped apart without any hesitation.

“You’re already fucking wet and ready for me. _Goddamn_ ,” Negan murmured. He eased in, staring as he disappeared inside her. Desa writhed and groaned, held still by the hand around her neck. Her toes curled as Negan lazily rolled his hips, apparently content with taking his sweet, sweet time.

“Fuck, fuck,  _fucking fuck_ ,” Negan grunted, poisoning his hips forward. Desa’s noises were no louder, and she reached up to grasp Negan’s shoulders for support. She couldn’t form words — his lips were all over her skin, and she felt her back hit the table as Negan pinned her down.

He slowed, and Desa whined. She rolled her eyes when he chuckled, his hand returning to gingerly hold her by the throat.

“Beg me to keep fucking your pretty little cunt,” Negan said. “Fucking  _beg_  for it.”

“Please.  _Please_ ,” Desa’s words were genuine, and out of desperation, the urge to feel him, she arched her back.  _“Please_ —”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Negan grunted, a vein on his neck straining. He caved, bucking his hips forward and continuing at a brutal pace. He pulled his hand away, leaning over Desa, he breath warm against her ear.

He came first, pulling out and emptying all over Desa’s thighs. Desa gasped at the loss of contact, but he quickly replaced his dick with two long fingers, lowering his head to lick and suck at her clit. She came with a low, almost animalistic snarl, coating his hands with her release.

“Good girl,” Negan rumbled, nibbling at the skin on Desa’s neck. “Look at you, squirting all over my fuckin’ fingers for me. Goddamn.”

Desa sat up, gripping Negan’s shoulders for support. He assisted her in sliding her pants back up her thighs, chuckling when Desa hopped from the table, walking on wobbling legs.

She yelped as Negan lightly smacked her rear. As he tucked himself away, he murmured, “Go upstairs to my room. Get ready for bed. I’m not fucking finished with you.”

Desa giggled — a sound she’d never thought herself to be capable of — before nodding and heading out the door. She stopped by her room, first, grabbing a few pairs of underwear. She practically bounded to the parlor, slowing and composing herself.

Negan’s wives stared as she entered. Their expressions ranged from pure indifference to hostility — Amber and Tanya were the latter, both looking increasingly agitated as Desa picked her way across the room.

To her relief, it was Sherry who walked over first. The taller woman placed a comforting hand on Desa’s shoulder, murmuring, “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Desa nodded. Sherry’s tone was kind enough, and she allowed the woman to lead her back out into the hallway, out of sight from prying eyes. The minute the door closed, things changed. Sherry crossed her arms, and in a rather hushed, exasperated manner she said, “Listen, could you  _please_  tell me what the hell is going on with you and Negan?”

Desa didn’t reply.

“We all  _know_  the two of you are fucking. We can hear you,” Sherry said. Taken aback by Desa’s silence, she shook her head and added, “Listen, none of us are angry with you — other than maybe Amber and Tanya, although that’s for an entirely different reason — we don’t care. We just want to know the truth, that’s all. Did he ask you to become a wife?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“For reasons I won’t go into,” Desa said coolly. “Sherry, there’s not much I can say to you. What you’re seeing and hearing, that’s  _it_. No elaborate scheme or plan…”

“The rest of the girls don’t believe that.”

“That’s an issue they’ll have to deal with themselves. There is nothing I can say to them that will fix things. If…if he keeps you guys around, that’s when you’ll know for sure.”

Sherry pursed her lips, but said nothing. Desa took the cue, pushing past her, entering the parlor once more. This time, Amber and Tanya’s glared were palpable, but Desa ignored them. The moment she shut the door to Negan’s room behind her, she sighed.

_Shower. Wash all the bad vibes._

She did just that, cleaning herself thoroughly, until her skin smelled of scented bath wash and her hair was soft and untangled. After, she slid on one of Negan’s shirts — the apparel came down to her mid thigh, a testament of just how massive Negan was. Or, better yet, how small Desa was.

She slipped under the covers. A few minutes later, the door opened, and Negan entered. Desa watched as he stripped, hastily stepping into the shower.

The moment he stepped out, Desa said, “Is this what domestic life feels like?”

“This is the closest we’re gonna fucking get in this world. I don’t fucking mind it too much,” Negan replied, pacing the room in nothing but his boxers. Desa sat up, reaching out to grab a glass of water from the bedside table.

Negan stopped. In a low voice he said, “You’re wearing my shirt.”

Desa raised her eyebrows, fingers inches away from the glass. She pulled back, kicking away the covers as Negan joined her on the bed. She stretched her long legs out in front of her, smirking.

“Have it back,” Desa peeled the shirt from her torso, balling it up and tossing it against Negan’s chest. He didn’t catch it, letting it fall as his eyes raked over her bare skin. “Better?”

“Fucking yes. Much,  _much_ fucking better.”

“I prefer sleeping bare, anyway. You don’t mind, do you?”

“I don’t fucking mind at all, holy shit,” Negan breathed. His arms wrapped around her waist, and Desa laughed as his lips tickled her shoulder. She reached over and flicked the lamp off, plunging the room into darkness.

* * *

_You’re back. It’s happening again._

_He’s here. With you._

_Touching you._

“Have you ever had a man take you from behind?” Father had positioned Negan so that he was bend over on his knees, arms twisted behind him. His cheek was pressed against the cool concrete, and he could see Father’s boot appear and disappear from his vision. He’d been silent, only replying with grunts of discomfort.

“I think you can be fixed.  _Changed_ ,” Father had knelt so that he could look Negan in the eyes. “The first step is claiming you as mine.  _Physically_.”

Negan said nothing. He’d kept his eyes open, staring straight ahead, as Father unzipped Negan’s pants, sliding them down his thighs. Negan’s boxers had followed.

“If you don’t cry, I’m not doing my job correctly.”

“You ain’t getting shit from me,” Negan had spat.

“Your voice is wavering. I will have my tears.”

Negan had groaned. Screamed at the discomfort. He’d tried to wriggle away, but he’d been pinned. Tied up like some prized cattle, put on display to be used and abused. Instead of tears, Father had received cursed and inaudible begs.

_Please. No more. Fucking stop, stop. No. Fucking no._

He’d left Negan naked, bleeding, still chained by the wrists but no longer pulled taut. Negan had been forced to watch Father zip up his pants, the faintest hint of sweat on his brow, and go on his merry way.

Then he would come back and do it again.

_“Negan?”_

Desa was speaking. She’d awoken, turning over and murmuring into his ear. Negan hadn’t even realized that he’d been half asleep, and her soft voice pulled him back into reality.

“You’re talking to yourself.” 

“Fuck. Did I wake you up?”

“No,” Desa replied. He heard the covers shift, and Desa lowered her head against his chest. He held her, calmed by her closeness. “It was about Father.”

“I won’t have another fucking seizure. I promise.”

“That’s not something you can promise. If you do, I’ll be here. Do…do you want to talk about what he did to you?”

“I never told you the specifics for a reason, Desa.” 

“To keep me sane,” Desa murmured. Negan heard her laugh to herself. “I was with Father longer than you think. Nothing you say will make me lose my sanity more than I already have. If you’re ready, you can share.”

“I think it was punishment,” Negan bit his lip, already deciding that he’d gone too far. But it was as if his mouth moved on its own accord, spilling secrets Negan hadn’t brought up to anyone else but Simon. “For what I did. To Lucille. Not the fucking bat — my wife. My _real_ wife. My  _only f_ ucking wife.”

“Nothing you could have ever done would make you deserving of that hell.” 

“No, no,” Negan reached up to wipe his nose. “I was a fucking shitty husband, Desa. I fucked around with other women. She got fucking sick…before all of them. I was in the hospital with her when she fucking passed… _during_ this. I couldn’t put her down. I was weak as shit. I couldn’t fucking do it, Desa.”

When he reached his hand up again, this time to wipe his eyes, he felt dampness. He turned his head, barely able to see Desa in the darkness. Tears spilled down his face, but he couldn’t help it.

He sobbed. Over two years worth of pent up rage and agony came spilling forth.

“Your wife. What would you say to her now?”

“I’d say that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a shitty fucking husband and a shitty fucking person. I didn’t deserve her. I sure as fuck don’t deserve you, Desa. I do deserve whatever Father gave me—”

He fell silent the moment her warm hand came to rest against the side of his face. “You have to forgive yourself. And you have to beat him. Not physically. That part can come later. You don’t have to accept him, but you have to accept that what he did to you happened. And that it’s over. Forever. He will  _never_ hurt you again.”

Negan sighed. He kissed Desa’s palm, murmuring, “That shit might take a while. Now go back to bed, Desa.”


	21. Chapter 21

Negan was absent when Desa awoke. His spot on the bed was still warm, the covers thrown to the side. She extended her hand, brushing her fingers across the smooth sheets before sighing, sitting up and brushing a hand across her face.

She dressed, taking her time. The moment she exited Negan’s room, she could feel the hostile stares of Negan’s wives — the most intense coming from, once again, Tanya and Amber. Desa made it halfway across the parlor before she stopped, relaxing her clenched fist.

“If any of you have a problem with me, speak up. If not, I’ll just go ahead and consider those obnoxious stares an act of aggression, and promptly remove them from your faces.”

Silence hung over the room. Desa looked around, teeth clenched. Amber ducked her head, clearly shaken, while Tanya stood, arms crossed. She wasn’t intimidated — in fact, Desa’s words seemed to have made her  _angrier_.

“I saw you go into the cells. I heard that man  _screaming_  because of  _you_. You’re a  _monster_. A  _freak_.”

Tanya’s outburst didn’t surprise Desa. Amber sucked in a breath, while the rest of the wives gathered what they had and retreated to their own shared rooms. Amber was the last to go, following close behind Sherry, who’s eyes lingered on Desa for an unusually long time.

“Go with them,” Desa said to Tanya. “You don’t want to try anything. You _really_  don’t.”

Tanya’s glare broke. She raised her chin, strutting past Desa, keeping that sour look on her pale face. Desa said nothing, choosing not to escalate things further. The less contact she had with Tanya, the better. 

The door to Tanya’s room slammed shut, and Desa’s shoulders slouched. She turned, and found herself staring at Negan, leaning against the doorframe to the parlor. He gave a low whistle, smiling and pointing Lucille in Desa’s direction.

“I was just about to come wake you the fuck up — and guess what I fucking find? You, fucking taking control. I have to admit, my dick did get a _little_  hard.”

Desa crossed the room, and Negan let her pass. She said, “Why do they hate me?”

“The girls?” Negan snorted, matching Desa’s pace as she headed down the hall. “They don’t hate you.”

“Have you seen the way Tanya and Amber talk to me? Sherry, too. Sometimes. I don’t think the rest are too fond of me, either.”

“I’m not sure why you give a shit, to be honest.”

“I care because ever night and every morning, I have to face them. They’re in the parlor when I come to bed, they’re in there when I wake up.”

“We’ve talked about this shit, Desa—”

“No, we haven’t,” Desa stopped, rounding on Negan. “Not since…not since you told me how you really feel. We haven’t talked about them.”

“I haven’t fucked a single one of them. From the moment you and I got together, back at the Estate, they’ve been in the parlor, some sulking, some singing praises to the high fucking heavens. I swear on my fucking life,” Negan raised a finger. “I don’t plan on fucking them anytime in the future, either. They are what they are.  _Eye candy_. And I’d rather keep shit that way, for your safety.”

“For  _my_ safety?”

“Very few of my men know that we’re fucking, Desa. Those girls take the spotlight off that,” Negan said lowly. “Trust me. It’s better this way.”

Desa pursed her lips. Negan’s palm brushed against her hip, and she leaned into him as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. 

“Trust is all I ask for,” Negan whispered.

“I can do that,” Desa said. “I can…but don’t be upset with me for hoping. Now,” she changed the subject, continuing her walk down the hallway. “What’s the plan for today?”

“Rounding up Rick the Prick and his merry gang of assholes,” Negan said. “Tonight. And before you ask, you’re not going.”

“ _What_?”

Desa stopped for a second time. The movement was so abrupt that Negan bypassed her, before spinning and raising his hands in a placating gesture.

“You’re staying back with Regina,” Negan explained. “And don’t even  _think_  about asking Simon. He’s just as opposed to you going as I am. He’s not going to fucking sneak you  _anywhere_.”

“I feel as if I deserve an explanation.”

“And you’ll get one.  _After_  we all get back.”

“That’s… _ridiculous_. Do you expect Rick and his people to fight back?” Desa stepped forward. “You’ll need capable fighters.  _I_  am  _capable_. I’ve proven myself—”

“I know you have. You don’t have to prove  _shit_ to me,” Negan barked. His face softened, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t explain it to you. It’s…the shit is too hard. Too long and too complicated, and I know you won’t like it. People are going to die.”

“I never enjoy it. Death. But I understand it, and I understand  _why_ it has to happen—”

“It’s the  _how_  I’m worried about.”

“Alright. I believe you,” Desa squeezed his shoulder, realizing that he wasn’t going to budge and change his mind. He was determined, like her. “You do what you have go do.”

Negan flashed a smile. He said, “We’re heading out before the sun sets. I have to go prep everyone — make sure they know what the fuck is going on. I will come back, and I will see you tomorrow. Rick the prick is who you need to be fucking worried about.”

Negan checked to see if the hallway was clear, before dipping his head and pressing his lips against Desa’s. She hummed, fingers coming up to gently stroke the coarse stubble on his cheek and jaw. 

Desa watched him leave, Lucille swinging by his side, whistling a low tune. 

She made her way to Carson’s, poking her head in and smiling softly when she saw Simon, sitting upright on a cot, shirt draped across his lap while Carson re-bandaged his wound. The smile didn’t last long, however — a figure was leaning against the wall, over in the corner. 

Dwight wasn’t smiling. He met Desa’s gaze and shook his head, pushing himself away from the wall. In the light, Desa could see the burn on the side of his face quite clearly — part of his eyelid was ruined, and the flesh was raw, discolored and wrinkled. 

“Eyedrops are in the drawer,” Carson said absently. While Dwight was occupied, Desa made herself known. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Peachy. Everything is pretty much almost healed up,” Simon answered. Carson glanced up, flinching away as Desa approached. He continued his work, but his wariness towards Desa was palpable. 

She didn’t blame him. He’d been the one to clean up after the mess she’d made of Father, and there was no way he  _hadn’t_ noticed that Father’s eye hadn’t been lying around anywhere. 

Maybe he knew that it was still digesting inside Desa’s belly, maybe he didn’t. 

Carson made some finishing touches, before allowing Simon to slid his shirt back on. The taller man hopped from the cot, beaming down at Desa. He said, “Negan gave you the rundown, right?”

“You’re going to out to deal with this Rick guy.”

“Exactly! And you, little lady, are to stay  _put_ ,” Simon poked Desa in the shoulder. “You have ears, which means you can  _listen_.  _Closely_. Regina is going to be keeping an eye on you.”

“He’s taking this pretty seriously,” Desa said mildly. She saw Dwight pause out of the corner of her eye. “You have nothing to worry about. I’ll hold down the fort.”

“Good to hear. We’ll be back before tomorrow,” Simon turned and left, followed shortly by Dwight. Desa bid Carson a farewell, hurrying after the lanky, scarred man, stopping him before he could reach the staircase. 

The minute Desa’s hand touched his wrist, he yanked it away. 

“ _What_?”

“I need a favor.”

“You’re _not_  coming with me. I’m not sneaking you anywhere,” Dwight said immediately. “If you get caught, Negan won’t skin  _you_. He’ll skin  _me_. Worse than he already has. Although from the looks of it, you’re into that.”

Desa raised her eyebrows, lips curling back into a snarl. Stepping closer, she craned her neck and sneered, “That’s not what I was going to ask. I’m not going with you, but I need you to bring me back something.”

“Like what?”

“A picture. Of whatever it is Negan does that’s so terrible—”

“ _That’s_  why he’s keeping you here,” Dwight’s eyes like up, and he licked his lips. “How about I tell you what he does. The honest truth.”

“Dwight—”

“He lines them up, picks one out. Sometimes two, if they resist. Then he beats them to death, cracks open their skulls in front of  _everyone_. And he  _laughs_  about it. Oh, and he doesn’t stop until they’re dead —  _no_. He keeps going. And laughing. It’s all a show for him.”

Desa staggered back, blinking. Dwight wasn’t grinning, his face devoid of bluff. He was panting, lips set in a thin line. He stood up straight, abruptly running a hand down his face before saying, “I’ll bring you back something. I’ll bring you back evidence. In the meantime, if you want to stay alive, follow the rules. You aren’t above them.  _None_  of us are.”

* * *

“You used to be an engineer, right? For the military?”

Drake’s eyes had been glued to the small gaming device in his hand, and when Desa spoke, he glanced up. For a long moment, he said nothing.

“Yeah.”

“What did you do?”

“Uh…mechanical engineering. Tanks. Guns. Everything, really.”

“What about bombs?”

“I did some bombs, yeah,” Drake placed his game on the floor, looking around the empty room. He rose, the bean bag shifting beneath his weight. “Is something going on? This is weird, Desa. Even for you—”

Desa began pacing, keeping her expression neutral. The Sanctuary was practically empty — over half of Negan’s men were out, coordinating their attack. Drake didn’t seem too hurt at being left behind, while Desa was still reeling.

She stopped and said, “I found something. When I was out scavenging,” she sucked in a breath, lowering her voice. “You cannot tell  _anyone_ about this, do you understand?”

“Not even Negan?”

“Especially not Negan. There’s a reason for that, and you don’t need to know,” Desa replied. “Listen. I’m being serious.”

“I know you are. You’ve got that ‘I’m serious’ look on your face.”

“Good of you to notice,” Desa gestured for Drake to sit, and he obeyed. She did the same, crossing her legs. “I  _need_  you for this, Drake. I don’t know much about bombs—”

“You found a  _bomb_!”

“Missiles,” Desa corrected herself. “Surface to surface…air…I’m not sure. I don’t even remember the fancy acronym on the box. The train transporting them crashed. It’s a little ways away from here, but if we can grab a car, it won’t take as long.”

“What are you trying to do?”

“I just need someone to check them out. Identify them. See if…if there’s any potential use for them.”

Drake raised his eyebrows, shrugging. He said, “I’ll see what I can do. And I won’t tell anyone, Desa. I promise.”

The door burst open. Desa’s hand flew to her gun and Drake ducked, hand reaching for his own knife. The weapon was halfway out of its holster before Desa realized who it was — Sherry, red in the face, hair disheveled.

“Where’s Tanya?”

Desa stood. “I don’t know.”

Sherry cursed. Exasperated, she said, “She’s not in her room with Amber. She’s not at the market. Nowhere. I assumed she’d come to harass you more, it’s how she likes to spend her time.”

“She thinks I’m a _freak_ ,” Desa said. “Not sure why she’d spend her time with me.”

Desa’s heart sank.

_Oh, no._

_No, no, no._

_Tanya, you idiot._

Desa’s feet moved on their own accord. She pushed past Sherry, hearing her shout and rush after. She skidded to a halt in front of Father’s open cell.

It was empty. Chains lay on a bloodstained floor.

“Oh, shit,” Drake breathed. He glanced over at Sherry, who looked paler than normal.

Desa unholstered her gun. Without a word, she headed down the hallway, to the stairs. She could hear Drake asking countless questions, but she ignored them — she pushed out the main entrance and into the night, running fingers through her hair as she looked around for any sign of Father and Tanya.

“ _There_!”

Two guards toppled, dispatched by a well aimed gunshot from Father. Desa saw him, across the way, Tanya close behind with a hand on his shoulder. She met Desa’s gaze, smirking.

Desa raised her gun and fired. The sound was deafening — bullets punctured the windows of parked trucks, from both Desa’s onslaught and Father’s returned fire. She could see him behind a car — he outgunned Desa, with an automatic rifle clutched in his hands.

It ended up being Drake who tackled Desa, pulling her behind cover. She grunted, covering her head as shattered glass peppered her hair and clothes.

The doors to the Sanctuary opened. Regina and Laura raised their guns, and Desa took the opportunity to break from cover.

Father had the same idea. Disregarding Tanya, he managed to push his way through the gate. From there, he disappeared into the darkness.

Regina and Laura dispatched the two guards as they began hobbling across the concrete, mouths open, teeth questing for flesh. Desa could hear Tanya as she rose, hands in the air, dress ripped and knees scraped and bleeding. Her eyes were red rimmed, but she wasn’t crying. Not anymore.

Desa approached with caution. Tanya’s eyes followed her, lips parted as she struggled to speak.

“No—”

That was the only word Desa allowed Tanya before she lifted her gun, blowing a quarter sized hole in the woman’s forehead. Sherry screamed and Drake shouted in alarm. Tanya’s body toppled, eyes open and unseeing as blood leaked from the open wound.

Headlights illuminated the area. Desa, Sherry, Drake, Laura, and Regina all shielded their eyes. The beam washed over Tanya’s corpse, and the caravan of trucks rolled right past the deceased guards.

Negan hopped from the lead vehicle, followed by Simon. The moment their boots hit the ground, they stopped, clearly puzzled by the scene before them.

Desa with a gun. Tanya’s corpse. Two dead guards. Regina and Laura, armed. Sherry and Drake cowering. It was as if they were a bunch of deer, frozen in the headlights.

“What,” Negan began, “The _absolute fuck?”_


	22. Chapter 22

“I leave for one night.  _One_  fucking night, and this place goes to shit?”

“There’s a team out there, searching. They’ll find him,” Simon replied, leaning against the table.

Drake was fiddling with his fingers while Sherry sat, legs crossed, a disapproving expression on her pretty face. The table was full, with Negan at the front, Lucille resting on the surface before him.

“It was Tanya,” Desa said. “She took pity on him and let him out.”

“And you  _killed_  her for it,” Sherry glared. “Didn’t even let her say her piece.”

“What could she have said, Sherry?” Desa didn’t look at the woman. “No amount of apologizing would have made up for what she did. That monster is loose,  _again_. And Tanya had to pay. She broke the rules.”

“Desa is right. I would have chosen a more public execution, but what’s done is fucking done. We have  _other_  shit to deal with,” Negan leaned back in his chair. “Sherry, you can leave. Go back to the parlor and tell the girls to wait in their fucking rooms. I’m going to have a fucking  _chat_  with them all later.”

Sherry nodded, shooting Desa one last caustic glare before leaving. Drake raised a hand, asking softly, “Can I…uh…go now, too?”

“Get the fuck out of here.”

Drake scrambled out the door. Negan watched, running a hand down his face. Desa crossed the room and slid into his lap, hearing him groan in contentment beneath her.

“I’m glad you’re fucking okay,” Negan murmured against Desa neck, kissing the skin below her ear. “I shouldn’t have kept that fucker alive.”

“It’s not your fault. There’s no way any of us could have known what Tanya was planning,” Desa faced him. “He’s out there, alone. Injured. That’s the worst possible thing for him,” she sighed, running a hand down his chest. “Those people — the Alexandrian’s, are they…”

“Two are dead. I didn’t want it to go that way…one of them forced my fucking hand,” Negan murmured.

“Dwight told me…that you use Lucille. You make everyone watch.” 

“Dwight isn’t fucking wrong.”

Desa’s face fell. She felt Negan gingerly squeeze her arm, his touch comforting. She remained in his lap, processing his words.

“ _Why_?” 

“Those people? They belong to  _us_ , now. All their shit belongs to  _us_. I had to make a fucking  _example_ ,” Negan used his thumb to tilt Desa’s chin upwards. “I didn’t want to do that shit, but that’s how it had to be. They  _understand_ , now, and I guarantee they won’t pull what they did at the Estate ever again.”

“It doesn’t _have_  to be that way.”

“It does. For me, for you, for  _all_  of us. I thought those fuckers had  _killed_ you, Desa. I thought those fuckers had taken you from me.”

“They didn’t. I’m here. I’ll always be here,” Desa murmured. “This is bigger than me. I don’t want you to become something you aren’t, Negan.”

“The rules are the rules.”

Desa closed her eyes, exhaling out her nose. She nodded, and Negan squeezed her arm once more.

“I’m heading up to the room. I’ll be waiting for you.”

She slid from his lap, letting his hands linger on her waist for a brief moment. She left conflicted, head ducked as she opened the door and nearly ran straight into Dwight, who quickly grabbed her by the wrist.

The scarred man stopped her, his grip on her wrists tightening. In a low voice, he snarled, “You wanted evidence? Here.  _This_  is what he does.”

He slipped something into her palm. She instinctively wrapped her fingers around it, refusing to meet Dwight’s gaze until he released her, walking off without another word.

Desa unfurled her fingers and found herself staring at a polaroid — a grisly image of a corpse with it’s head bashed into a red, gooey paste against the dirt.

* * *

“Am I a freak, Negan?”

Negan stopped, lips still pressed against Desa’s neck. He pulled away, raising his eyebrows and shifting beneath the covers.

“If you’re a freak, then I’m a fucking freak. Is this about what Tanya said? She was always a rude-ass bitch,” Negan sighed. “This world is too fucking shitty for people to go around labelling others—”

“Negan—”

“You know I would never lie about shit to you, right? Tanya is — was — a bitch. I know what happened with Father, and I could care less. It doesn’t change my opinion of you, and it never will. Love does weird shit to people, Desa.”

Desa chuckled, feeling Negan snuggle up against her side. In a soft voice, she said, “I keep telling myself that theres a middle ground. I feel like a hypocrite, criticizing you for how you run this place, what you do…because I did the same thing under Father. We killed. We _ate_  people. The place was hell, but I was too scared to try and get out, until you came along.” 

“Here’s the fucking deal. You say you’re a freak? I say, fuck it! _Be_ a fucking freak. Whatever it takes to stay alive and rebuild everything we’ve fucking lost. That’s what we have to fucking do, Desa,” Negan explained. “We’re building a new world, here. I want us to do that shit  _together_.”

“ _Together_ ,” Desa breathed. Her lips curled into a smile, and she laughed. “As if I could even do this shit without you,” she rested her forehead against Negan’s, pressing a kiss against his lips. “I love you.”

“And I fucking love you. Don’t ever forget that shit. I want you to be a part of the new fucking world.”

* * *

The new world, as Desa found out, started with Alexandria.

Desa hadn’t caught wind of the trip until the day it happened, roughly a week after they’d been subjugated. She was itching to visit the new community, so she could check it off her map.

Gavin was in charge of the Kingdom — the negotiations had gone well, according to him. Not a single life lost. They’d cooperated, and Negan had no problem ensuring that the community would be safe. Desa was pleased — the less killing, the better. Hilltop and Alexandria had just gotten unlucky, it seemed.

“You can fucking come,” Negan had told her. He patted the seat next to him, catching Desa’s bag as she tossed it into the car, before sliding next to him. He’d beamed, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as the caravan took off.

_Collection time._

“This place is mag- _fucking_ -nificient!” Negan practically bellowed, spreading his arms wide and walking through the settlement’s gates. Desa followed behind, Arat on her heels as the Saviors began surveying the area.

He wasn’t wrong — the place was almost ethereal, by Desa’s standards, akin to the Estate in its grandness. Light shimmered off the pond in the center of the cluster of townhouses and individual homes, the entire community protected by a towering, reinforced wall.

Desa recognized Rick Grimes immediately — not because she knew his face, but because she recognized his posture, his walk, from when she’d seen him from afar at the Estate. Although now, his head was ducked, and when he spoke, it was quiet.

“You’re early.”

“I missed ya,” Negan crowed. He glanced over at Desa, beckoning her with one gloved fingers. “I have someone here I want you to fucking meet, Rick.”

Rick’s people had gathered outside their homes, watching anxiously. Desa approached Rick, tilting her head to the side as she scanned him up and down. Forming an initial impression was hard. He looked beaten, though his jaw was set and he was practically vibrating with pent up rage.

“This is Desa. It was _her_  outpost that your people fucked up,” Negan said, still keeping a cheerful demeanor, but not hiding the ire in his voice. “The fact that  _she’s_ alive is the only reason  _you’re_ alive. Just so you know how close you came to getting all of your people  _slaughtered_  like the fucking savages they are. Just a food for thought,  _Rick_.”

Negan practically spat the man’s name. Desa cringed, glancing back and forth between the two men. In an act of good hospitality, she extended a hand and said, “A pleasure to meet you, Rick.”

Rick was reluctant to shake it, but he did. “Nice to meet you, too.” he replied in a monotone voice.

“Hold this,” Negan shoved Lucille against Rick’s chest, spinning on his heels. He ordered his men to split up, making his way down the long stretch of asphalt. When Desa began to follow, he said, “You can go find something you like. Something nice. There’s bound to be some good shit in all these fucking houses.”

Desa nodded, brushing past Rick, letting her bag fall from her shoulder to her hands. She doubled back towards the gate, scanning the area until her eyes fell an open door. Slinging her bag back over her shoulder, she climbed the steps and entered, moving quietly when she saw that the living room was empty.

There was nothing she wanted. The place was well stocked, but it felt  _weird_ , standing in a strangers home, having been told to just…take. She headed upstairs, moving slowly, opening the first door on her left.

She stopped.

The blonde-haired, cherub face of a toddler stared at Desa with tired eyes. The little girl rubbed her nose, staring at Desa through the bars of her crib.

“Hi.”

Desa wanted to slap herself. The little girl seemed to understand, waving. Gently easing her bag onto the floor so not to startle the girl, Desa glanced around and saw what she assumed to be the toddlers name, drawn and colored on a piece of plain paper and taped to the wall.

_Judith._

“That’s a really pretty name,” Desa smiled. She stepped closer. The girl stood, and when Desa stopped by her crib, she reached out. “I’m Desa. I’m sorry — I don’t know how to talk to kids. Where are your parents?”

No reply.

An idea struck Desa, and she hurried back over to her bag. She found the plush keychain at the bottom of her bag. It was large enough not to be a choking hazard, and simple enough that it would entertain the girl — a fuzzy, multicolor bouncing ball that Jack had found some time ago.

“Here you go,” Desa handed the object to Judith, and the girl took it enthusiastically, plopping down onto her crib before starting to fiddle with the object. Desa made her escape then, inching out of the room while the toddler was occupied.

She made her way out of the house, barely making it out the door before a body plowed into her, knocking her flat onto her rear. She cursed, rubbing her head as a shaggy haired boy tried to step past her.

“Where’s my sister?”

“The kid?” Desa winced, using the doorframe as support, rising to her feet. “Judith? She’s fine. She’s in her crib.”

Desa finally had a chance to look at the boy— she was immediately taken aback by the bandage covering his right eye. She could see the faintest hint of scar tissue poking from beneath the white patch, and it struck her just how  _young_  the kid was. He couldn’t have been but two or three years older than Jack. That was the only similarity, but it rendered her speechless.

Softly, Desa said, “I gave her something to play with. I hope that’s alright.”

The boy was panting, teeth clenched. He seemed to calm down when he realized that Desa wasn’t at all a threat, shoving a lock of brown hair away from his face. He said, “You’re one of  _them_. I saw you come in. Just take what you need and  _get out_.”

“What’s your name?” 

He pushed past Desa, entering the house and stopping at the question. In an exasperated voice, he said, “Why do you care?”

“You just remind me of someone I used to know. That’s all.”

“My name is Carl. And if you’re smart, you’d take what you need, and  _get out_.”

“My name is Desa. There’s nothing here that I want,” when Carl said nothing, Desa added, “Your sister can keep the toy. I don’t need it back.”

She left before Carl got a chance to reply. She sought out Negan, making her way through the narrow spaces between the back of the homes and Alexandria’s wall.

A gloved hand slid across her mouth and she shrieked, the sound muffled. She found herself spinning, caught in Negan’s grasp he gently eased her against the surface of the wall.

“You  _bastard_ ,” Desa hissed, giggling and slapping his chest. “You could have scared me to death!”

“I’m glad you have that much fucking faith in me, darlin’,” Negan chuckled, glancing around to ensure that the space was private. “Now let’s see if I can make you fucking  _scream_  until you pass the fuck out.”

Desa yelped as his fingers dipped beneath her jeans to run across her slit. She gripped his wrists, moaning into his open-mouthed kiss before pulling away and hissing, “Not here!”

“Why not?” Negan purred, angling his hips so Desa could feel the thick bulge straining against his pants. He kissed her again, and then again, murmuring, “You’re already so fucking wet—”

Desa stopped him, staring into his dark eyes. Grinning, she whispered, “When we get back — I’m all yours.  _Whatever_ you want. As  _much_  as you want.”

“ _Whatever_ I fucking want, huh?” Negan’s fingers skimmed beneath her shirt. “Fuck. I fucking  _love_  you—”

“Your guys are ready to leave,” a gruff voice called. “Did you get everything you came for?”

Desa head whipped to the side. The man standing at the mouth of the narrow alley space had a crossbow slung over his shoulder, and a gaze that could melt steel. He didn’t seem to bothered by the fact that Negan had his hand down Desa’s pants and his mouth on her throat.

Negan spat, “My guys are ready to leave when  _I’m_ ready to fucking leave,” he eased off Desa, keeping a hand on her arm. Desa sized up the man — like most, he was taller. There was a cunning face under that greasy mop of hair, however, and Desa walked cautiously around him.

She said, “Nice crossbow.”

“You ain’t taking it.”

“I don’t want it,” Desa grimaced. She heard Negan call for Rick in a sing-song voice, walking off. “What’s your name?”

“None of your business.”

“We’re going to be coming here a lot. It would be rude of me  _not_  to know the names of the locals.”

The man’s shoulders slouched, and with a grunt, he brushed past Desa. He didn’t say a word, heading towards the front gates, where the saviors were beginning to gather.

Desa saw Negan snatch Lucille from Rick, whispering something in the man’s ear before looking around for Desa. He extended a hand, and Desa took it. He helped her into the truck, flashing a genuine smile.

“Until next time,  _Prick_.”

The truck doors slammed shut, and Desa watched as the caravan pulled away from Alexandria. She rested her head against the window, watching Negan out of the corner of her eye. In a soft voice, she said, “There’s a baby here.”

“A baby?”

“A little girl. Judith. I think she’s Rick’s…” Desa pursed her lips. “When we get back, I want to check the nursery. See if there’s any leftover—”

“No.”

“Negan—”

“I’ll…fuck. I’ll see if they have anything, okay? But that’s it,” Negan rubbed his face. “ _Fuck_ , woman.”

“You know you love me.”

“I do but… _fuck_.”

Desa chuckled, closing her eyes as the truck rumbled along. After a while, she felt the vehicle roll to a stop. She hopped out after Negan, boots crunching against the gravel. She heard Joey and some of the other guys as they began to unload the truck. Desa walked past, heading for the doors to the Sanctuary.

_“Holy shit!”_

Several quick gunshots, and Desa dropped to the floor, as did the rest of Negan’s men — bullets bounced off the concrete walls, and Desa saw a figure leap from the back of the truck. She drew her handgun, already set on shooting whoever the attacker was.

The realization stopped her.

“I only want Negan! He killed my friends,” Carl was panting, knuckles white as he held his gun in a vice grip. His one eye scanned the area, finally landing on Negan, who stood, grinning and unafraid.

Desa took advantage of his lapse in concentration, dashing forward and kicking the boys leg out from beneath him. He fell, and Desa swiftly knocked his gun away before pinning the boy to the ground as if he weight nothing. He struggled, but Desa opened her mouth and gave the most terrifying, inhuman sounding hiss she could muster.

He didn’t move after that.

“ _Easy_ , now,” Negan stepped forward, hovering over the boy. Desa’s eyes flickered to the two corpses sprawled across the ground, before focusing back on Carl. “Did you pick that gun out because it looked fucking cool? I have to admit, kid, you scare the everliving fuckity _fuck_  out of me.”

Carl grit his teeth, attempting to get up. Desa didn’t allow him, until Negan gave a low whistle and drawled, “You can let go of him, Desa.”

She saw Dwight reach down and retrieve the rifle. She obeyed, easing off Carl and rising to her feet. Negan offered the boy and hand, and he stared at it.

“Take my fucking hand, kid. You  _really_  don’t want to piss me the fuck off.”

Carl glanced at Desa. She shrugged, adding, “You really don’t.”

The boy rolled his eyes, grabbing his sheriffs hat before taking Negan’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. He brushed off his shirt, looking defeated, more annoyed than afraid.

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Don’t fucking know yet. You killed  _two_  of my fucking men,” Negan raised his eyebrows. “So that’s fucking  _that_. Say, Desa, what the fuck should I do with him? Should I show him around? Oh, by the way, kid, this is Desa—”

“We’ve met,” Carl interrupted. “Already.”

“Well then, isn’t that fucking  _nice_ ,” Negan crossed his arms, looking pleased. “All of us, getting to fucking know each other. We can do more of that shit inside. C’mon.”


	23. Chapter 23

Carl, unlike during Desa’s first tour of the Sanctuary, didn’t look impressed. He looked more befuddled than anything, his single eyes darting around the room as he took in everything. The way the people knelt the moment Negan entered the main area, the way each individual member had a duty, a responsibility. Desa couldn’t tell whether or not his awe was simply delayed, influenced by fear for his life.

The moment Negan suggested that they head to his room, Desa cringed. That meant the parlor. That meant the wives — Desa had been attempting to avoid them at all cost.

Nonetheless, she followed behind Negan and Carl, keeping her head ducked as they opened the door.

None of the women knelt — they hardly acknowledged Negan. Sherry and Amber were the only two who reacted. Amber, eyes red rimmed, placed her head in her hands while Sherry moved from her side, hurrying over to Negan.

Desa stayed leaning against the wall, next to the door. Carl briefly turned his head to look at her, his gaze lingering, a puzzled expression on his face.

_God, he reminded her so much of Jack._

Jack had been naive. Innocent. This boy was hardened, aged. There was no telling what he’d seen. He was who Jack  _should_  have been — strong.

Desa found it hard to feel pity for Amber. Negan’s movements seemed robotic, as he knelt before her. As he spoke, Carl finally addressed Desa, walking over to her.

“Who are you?”

“I’ve already told you my name.”

“No,” Carl said in a hushed tone. “Who are you? You don’t look like you belong here.”

“I belong here. You don’t. You’ve got it twisted,” Desa tilted her chin up. “This could have gone differently for you and your people. You chose this path.”

“So did you.”

“Desa,” Negan called. She pushed away from the wall, brushing past Carl, aware that the boy was still watching her. Negan raised a finger, his voice hollow. “Do me a favor, and get the fucking iron ready. You know — the one downstairs.” 

_You chose this path._

_You did._

_You._

“Yes,” Desa answered, and she went.

* * *

Negan didn’t make her watch, this time. She slipped away, retreating to the room she and Negan shared after she handed the iron off to Dwight, who in turn would hand it to Negan.

He made Carl watch, however. She could hear Mark’s screams echo throughout the Sanctuary, pained and twisted. She lay on Negan’s bed with a pillow over her head to block out the noise. When it was over, Desa stripped and showered, scrubbing her skin until it turned red. When she stepped out, she could hear hushed noises from beyond the bathroom door. She dried herself, dressing and cautiously stepping into the room.

The boy sat opposite of Negan, hair brushed to the side. Desa noticed the bandage in his lap, first, and her gaze naturally shifted to the jagged wound where his eye should have been. It was scarred over, but still off-putting and grotesque.

Desa couldn’t stop staring.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Desa jumped, shaking her head and sliding onto the bed. In a tired voice, she said, “I hope you aren’t traumatizing the kid. He doesn’t need it.” 

“Stop pretending like you care,” Carl barked. He stood, though the sudden movement didn’t faze Negan. “Whatever game you’re playing, it’s over,” he stared down at Negan, fists clenched. “You know what I think? I think that you’re keeping me alive because you can’t kill me, or my dad.”

Negan smiled. He looked over his shoulder, clicking his tongue at Desa. “What a little badass. My men need to take some fucking notes,” he rested Lucille against his lap. “You’re fucking right. I can’t kill you. It wouldn’t serve a fucking purpose.”

Carl didn’t seem calmed by Negan’s admittance. Now it was Desa’s turn, and she slid from the bed, leaning down and murmuring a request in Negan’s ear, praying that he’d oblige.

“Can I talk to the kid? Alone?” Desa said with pleading eyes. Negan gnawed on his lower lip. Desa hoped that her eyes were telling him everything he needed to know.

“Fine. But make it quick.”

Negan left. Carl visibly relaxed, his one good eye staring particularly hard at one corner of the room.

“Sit down,” Desa said softly. To her surprise, Carl obeyed. She saw him slowly unclench his fist and adjust the sheriff’s hat on his head. “It was really, really stupid for you to come here.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know. But that’s not your fault,” Desa replied. “I applaud your bravery. It’s admirable. Maybe that’s why Negan likes you so much—”

“He probably likes me as much as he likes you. He uses people,” Carl growled. “Until he doesn’t need them. It’s why I’m still alive. It’s why my dad is still alive—”

“ _Trust_  me. He doesn’t like you the way he likes me,” Desa snorted. Carl’s face fell and he made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. The closer he leaned in, the more Desa got a look at the nasty hole where his eye used to have been.

“How’d you lose your eye?”

“Bullet,” Carl answered briskly. When Desa didn’t reply, he sighed, saying softly, “Back at the house. You told me I reminded you of someone.”

“You do.”

“Who?”

Desa’s lower lip twitched, and she shifted uncomfortably. Trying to sound as dismissive as possible, she said, “My younger brother, Jack. You remind me of what he  _could_ have been. Strong.”

“How’d he die?”

Caught off guard, Desa said simply, “We were in a bad place. Surrounded by bad people. They took him from me, hurt him. And then I killed him to save him.”

Carl stared from beneath his mop of brown hair, a sad, sad expression on his young face. Almost reluctantly, he said, “Why all of this?”

“Because you asked.”

“No,” Carl responded, more strongly. “Telling me about your brother, keeping me alive, showing me this place.  _Why._  And you…you _follow_ him.”

“My friends are dead because of your people. What happened on the road doesn’t need to happen again,” Desa explained. “You are here because you strayed too far from your own path. It’s so easy to do the wrong thing in this world — my brother learned that the hard way. I  _don’t_  want to see the same thing happen to you, Carl.”

“It won’t.”

“I believe you,” Desa stood, peering over at the door. “Now, let’s get you home.”

* * *

“Rick is out searching for supplies,” a heavyset woman with dark hair and glasses spoke in a nervous, almost hushed tone, before finally noticing Carl. “Carl — what the hell are you doing?” 

As usual, the Alexandrian’s had welcomed them back with semi-open arms. Desa could feel the relief in air when Negan announced that, no, they weren’t here for pickup. Laura stayed back near the gate, while Arat stood guard outside the house. The dark haired woman had introduced herself as Olivia, visibly shaken by Negan’s appearance.

Nevertheless, she welcomed them inside — well, Negan welcomed himself inside, while Carl and Desa followed — before explaining Rick’s absence.

“Well, I’ll just kick my fucking feet back and wait for his return,” Negan gave a low whistle, spinning and surveying the home. “Nice fuckin’ place you’ve got here. Say, Olivia, you got any of that good-ass fuckin’ lemonade lying around?”

“I can go check,” Olivia shrugged, before her shoulders fell and she admitted, “There’s…we’re running out of food pretty fast. We’re practically starving.”

“ _Starving_?”

Desa whipped her head to the side, raising her eyebrows at Negan’s tone. He towered over Olivia, and even though Desa knew he wasn’t trying to be intentionally intimidating, it wasn’t coming off as anything but that.

Negan chuckled and continued, “You? Starving? By ‘practically’ you mean ‘ _not fucking really_.’”

“ _Negan_ ,” Desa hissed. To her horror, Olivia’s eyes began to swell with tears. She turned away, removing her glasses and letting of a soft sob. Negan met Desa’s gaze, taken aback by her caustic glare. He scrunched up his nose, almost as if he were going to disregard Desa — his expression changed when Olivia cried even louder.

Negan turned, gently tapping Olivia on the shoulder. The woman furiously wiped away her tears, turning to face Negan with whatever confidence she had left.

 _Apologize_. 

Desa watched with narrowed eyes as Negan leaned forward and spoke.

“I’m…sorry for being so fucking rude to you. It was uncalled for. It’s looks like we’re going to be spending a shitton of fucking time together as we await the return of your fearless fucking leader so…” Negan paused, tilting his head. “If you’re agreeable to it, I’d very much like to fuck your fucking brains out.”

Four seconds of silence. Olivia’s face went from distraught, to terrified, to downright annoyed. Her hand moved, fast and lightning, the sound of her palm hitting Negan’s cheek echoing throughout the room.

While Negan stood, stunned, Desa let out a burst of cackling laughter.

“I was, uh, fucking  _kidding_. I’m committed to sticking my dick in  _one_ certain woman’s pussy at the moment,” Negan shook his head, moving his jaw as he still recovered from the hit. “But if I _wasn’t_  — I’d be about fifty percent more fucking into you right now.”

Olivia and Desa locked eyes, and Desa couldn’t help but wink and give the woman a nod of approval.

Negan came up with the ingenious idea of cooking spaghetti, though not before disappearing into the bathroom to shave. Carl retrieved Judith while Olivia searched for the lemonade, returning right as Negan reentered the kitchen, face smooth, dimples on full display. He draped his jacket over the kitchen chair, speaking briskly to Carl before the two of them got started on the spaghetti.

Olivia sat on the couch while Desa played with Judith, the woman visibly nervous as the toddler fiddled with Desa’s bag, before grabbing a puzzle from the corner of the living room. She said something unintelligibly, plopping down before Desa.

It was one thing after another — a puzzle, a book, a toy train. The little girl was tireless and full of energy — something Desa wasn’t used to. Nonetheless, after a few minutes, she was the only thing that mattered to Desa. Olivia’s judgmental stare, Carl constantly peering over the couch to view his sister, it all didn’t matter. The girl had captured Desa’s full attention, and for the first time, she felt raw, genuine joy, further amplified by Negan’s presence.

_This is how life is supposed to be._

“Food is fucking ready,” Negan called.

“Can you  _please_  not swear in front of Judith?” Olivia gave an exasperated sigh.

“Shit — I mean fuck — I mean, darn. Sorry,” Negan waved a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose while Carl set the table. Desa joined, noticing the boy’s quietness.

“Are you okay, Carl?”

“I’m fine,” Carl didn’t look at her. “Everything is fine. This is fine.”

“You’re damn — I mean darn — right,” Negan quipped. As they began serving themselves, he rested his forearms on the table, letting out a groan. “I’m not waiting for your dad. He get here when he gets here,” he grabbed his fork. In a low voice, he said, “Carl. Can you please pass the rolls?”


	24. Chapter 24

Desa closed her eyes, relaxing as she reclined in Negan’s lap. He, in turn, sat on the rocking chair on the porch outside of Rick’s home. Arat stood guard by the stairs, hand constantly drifting back and forth between her hip and her holster.

Negan pressed a kiss against her neck, and Desa said, “I thought you didn’t want us to go public?”

“Did I say that shit? Goddamn,” Negan rumbled against her skin, holding Desa tighter. “You know, if something fucking happens to you while you’re out with me…I’m not going to be able tp pretend like I don’t give a shit.”

Fully aware that some of his men were watching, Desa dipped her head and captured Negan’s lips in a kiss. When she pulled away, she murmured, “That’s exactly why  _nothing_  is going to happen to me.”

Negan smiled. He massaged the sliver of exposed skin above Desa’s hip, kissing her neck once more before letting out a content sigh.

“How do you like the place?”

Desa craned her neck, and Negan smirked. A handsome, dark haired man around Desa’s age was approaching the house. Arat stopped him before he could climb the stairs.

“Let him through, Arat,” Negan drawled. The man nodded, approaching with confidence. He took a seat in the rocking chair beside Negan, gently setting a glass of fancy-looking scotch on the table between them.

“Housewarming gift,” the man said. “I’m Spencer, by the way.”

Desa remained in Negan’s lap while the two men shook hands. She saw Spencer glance briefly at her, before adding, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Desa.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Spencer smiled. It wasn’t genuine, and Desa was becoming tired of it. He scratched the back of his neck, struggling with how to form his next words. “I, uh, would like to talk with Negan alone for a minute. It won’t be long. Is that alright?”

“Whatever you have to say, you can fucking say it in front of her,” Negan stated simply. The door to Rick’s home opened, and timidly, Olivia stepped up with three glass cups. She set them on the table, eying the bottle of scotch before turning to leave — Desa stopped her.

“Olivia, I don’t drink,” Desa handed her glass back. “Thank you, though.”

Olivia nodded. Her smile was genuine, and she politely excused herself, closing the door behind her. Watching her go, Negan squeezed Desa tighter, before turning his attention back to Spencer.

“Well,  _Spencer_ , what can I do for you on this  _fine_  fucking afternoon?”

“Like I said,” Spencer gestured to the scotch, popping it open and pouring Negan, then himself, a glass. “Housewarming. I want to make the best of this situation.”

“ _Goddamn_. Calling it — we are  _definitely_ getting a fucking vacation home here,” Negan’s eyes flickered to Desa, his grin contagious. “You know what would make this shit even fucking better? A pool table.”

“We have one. In the garage, over there,” Spencer pointed.

“Well, shit, Spencer,” Negan drawled. “I think you just became my new best fucking friend.”

Desa couldn’t help but roll her eyes, not caring if Spencer noticed. She was already annoyed with the man’s attempts at sweet-talking and seducing Negan. The reason didn’t matter. It was plain as day — his gift of scotch meant  _nothing_.

While Negan ordered his men to move the pool table from the garage, Spencer said, “The two of you — you and Negan — uh, how did you stumble across his and the Saviors?”

“Me finding them was nothing short of a miracle,” Desa stared straight ahead, rising from the rocking chair and bypassing Spencer. Four of Negan’s men were scrambling to set up the pool table, placing it in the center of the caul-de-sac.

She approached Negan as he analyzed the pool cue before tossing it in Spencer’s direction, grabbing his own.

“Wanna join?”

“ _No_ ,” Desa replied. Negan just shrugged, beckoning Spencer over. The two men began to play, while Desa went and sat on the curb, next to Arat.

“Not a pool person?” Arat asked.

“I never learned how to play. I will eventually — Negan and Spencer are having their ‘moment,’” Desa chuckled. Arat smirked, eyes scanning the vast expanse of Alexandria.

In a low voice, she said, “I heard about what happened with that Father guy. You were right to do what you did.”

“It felt right,” Desa murmured. “And that scares me.”

“It shouldn’t,” Arat turned, facing Desa. “Life and death in this world doesn’t mean what it used to. And listen…you and Negan, together…this place will be better than it ever has been.”

“I hope your right,” Desa murmured. She felt Arat’s gloved hand squeeze her shoulder. A crowd was beginning to gather, as Negan and Spencer’s game of pool became a bit more boisterous. Rick’s home was adjacent to the pool table, and Desa could see Carl and Olivia both watching the match curiously.

Something had changed. The friendly, welcoming air between Negan and Spencer had dissapeared. Desa noticed the way Negan’s muscles twitched and his eyes were ever-so-slightly narrowed, lips still stretched into that  _charming_  smile of his. He was thinking, fast, as Spencer went full damage control.

By the time Spencer opened his mouth, it was too late.

Negan yanked his knife from its sheath, burying it in Spencer’s stomach, all the way to the hilt. Spencer gasped and Desa heard Olivia’s cry of alarm as Negan sliced Spencer open from hip to hip, spilling his innards across the asphalt.

Desa and Arat jumped to their feet as Spencer toppled.

“ _There_  they are!” Negan crowed, turning to the crowd, beaming as if the entire thing were a show. “They were in you the  _entire fucking time_!”

One of the bystanders drew a handgun. Desa didn’t think — she acted. She extended an arm, tossing her full weight against Negan as the sound of a gunshot rang through the air.

Then it was over. The woman was tackled by Arat, gun knocked from her hands, while the rest of Negan’s men drew and aimed their weapons.

 _“What the shit!”_ Negan hadn’t fallen — Desa was far to small to really knock him over. He’d stumbled, slamming against the pool table. In a terrifying bellow, he raised Lucille. A piece had been chipped away, obviously by a bullet. “You fucking shot Lucille—what the fuck!”

Desa let out a breath. Arat was staring at her, and as Negan stormed past, snarling and shouting like a madman, Desa looked down at her forearm.

Blood trickled from where the bullet had scooped out a chunk of flesh. It coated her palm and began dripping on the asphalt.

_“You fucking shot Lucille!”_

“She got in the way,” the woman growled, prompting Arat to dig her knife into the woman’s cheek, drawing blood.

Desa’s fingers twitched as she tried to stem the flow of blood with her opposite hand. Negan finally turned to face her, eyes shooting to the red on her arm. He staggered towards her, falling silent as he inspected the damage.

“I’m fine,” Desa murmured, hissing in pain as she gripped the wound. There was a throbbing, pounding sensation shooting from her fingertips to her shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m fine. Go deal with her.”

“Go get her a fucking rag,” Negan snarled at one of his men. “Fucking  _now!_ ”

“Go deal with her,” Desa hissed.

Negan gulped, turning away, his grip of Lucille never slackening. He reached down and retrieved something from the asphalt — the bullet, coated in Desa’s blood. When he spoke, his voice cracked, before returning to that commanding tone Desa recognized. “Who the  _fuck_ made this?”

“Me. It was  _me_ ,” the woman writhed beneath Arat’s grip. “It was  _me_ —”

“You’re lying. I can fucking tell,” Negan bent down, lips curling back over his teeth. “ _Lying_  to me is a  _big_ fucking no-no. Someone showed some might fine ingenuity making this fucking little thing right here. You’re going to tell me  _who_.”

“I  _told_  you, it was me.”

“Stab her, Arat.”

Arat’s knife came down hard upon the woman’s exposed forearm. The blade pierced deep. The woman shrieked as blood gushed from the vertical  slice right beneath her elbow.

“That is for fucking nearly killing the  _one_ person other than Lucille here that I give a genuine shit about,” Negan roared. “And  _this_ is for fucking  _lying_. Kill someone, Arat.”

_“No!”_

A gunshot. Olivia’s body dropped, hard, against the porch of Rick’s home. When Desa looked up, the man himself was arriving — practically running, a familiar figure — Daryl — hot on his heels.

“ _Desa_ ,” Negan said softly, letting out a long, audible breath. “Go inside.”

For once in her life, Desa didn’t have the desire or strength to protest. One of Negan’s men offered her a rag, guiding her away from the scene. Past Carl, past Olivia’s corpse and into Rick’s home.

“I’m dripping blood on his carpet,” Desa murmured. The savior said nothing, rummaging for some alcohol to pour over the room. “It’s a nice carpet.”

Something tugged at her pant leg. When she looked down, Judith’s cherub face stared back at her. She held a puzzle in one hand, and wrapped around her finger, was Desa’s keychain.

“Not right now.”

“Do you want me to get her—”

“Don’t touch her,” Desa took a seat on the couch, glaring at the savior to back away. When the savior advanced despite her warning, Desa snarled, “Touch her and I’ll kill you.”

He backed off, after that. And Desa sat back as the girl with the cherub face, oblivious to the bloodshed outside or the crimson liquid dripping down Desa’s arm and staining the couch, opened her puzzle, and began to play.


	25. Chapter 25

“So for me to possibly create a manual detonator, I’d need a couple of things. Those missiles typically use GPS tracking to find their target, but since that isn’t possible…the classic ‘flip the switch’ method will have to do—are you even paying attention to me?” 

Desa was. She was aware that she hadn’t responded or moved. She and Drake sat, cross legged, on the floor of his tiny room. Drake was jotting things down, occasionally rambling to himself softly as he scratched words onto the paper.

“I’m paying attention.”

“Good. Some of these things we might be able to find at the market. I’m sure you have enough points,” Drake explained. “Other, though…might take some searching.”

“Like what?”

“Cords. A hot glue gun. Copper. A timer. A walkie — maybe even a cell phone.”

“And you’re  _sure_ this will work?”

“It’s what I know how to do. Sort of,” Drake scratched his neck. His eyes travelled to Desa’s bandaged arm, and he changed the subject. “How’s your arm?”

“Fine. The bullet only grazed me,” Desa replied. “You don’t need to be worrying about me. That’s Negan’s job.”

They laughed. In a soft voice, Desa said, “I know the Estate had everything we could have used. But it’s gone now.”

“Stuff might have survived,” Drake shrugged. “But I doubt it. Copper is about the only thing I could see us finding in there. I’d rather not go back to that place, anyway.”

“Agreed,” Desa couldn’t help but smirk, glancing at the floor. “Listen, I’ll tell Negan that we’re going on a short supply run, and we can head over to the site. I still have the map in my bag.”

Drake looked hesitant, and Desa knew why. He said, “Eh…out there? In the open? You know I’m not the best with a gun, Desa—”

“I’ll be with you. You won’t have to worry.”

“I _do_ trust you it’s just—”

“Drake,” Desa stressed. “Are you with me or not?”

He grimaced, before muttering, “I am. Yeah.”

“Good. Then let’s head out.”

* * *

Negan accepted Desa’s request with a watchful eye, stating that she’d “better bring back some good shit.” before he’d given her a kiss on the mouth, ushering her away. Desa was glad he was beginning to let her go off on her own more — the process had taken time, but it was worth it. He seemed to be less stressed now that Father was gone, no longer a constant thorn in his side. Although the trauma was still fresh, like an open wound, his paranoia had started to dissipate.

Negan was mainly preoccupied with the Sanctuary’s new resident, Eugene. The bumbling, fast-talking man had calmed down since his arrival just a few days prior, and was now stoic, seemingly converted to Negan’s ways. After briefly speaking to Eugene, Desa could tell that he needed it. He’d be stronger.

“You’ll have to teach me how to make bullets, sometime,” Desa had told the man. Eugene had stared, before nodding slowly.

“The process is rather tedious and requires a sharp mind and a dependable hand. Judging by the speed at which you placed yourself between Negan and Rosita’s bullet, you seem more than capable for the job. That’s just my expeditious observation.”

“Do you make observations a lot?”

“Yes ma’am, it’s one of the multitude of things I am proficient at.”

“You don’t have to call me ma’am.”

“Considering that you and Negan are romantically involved, I find it appropriate to extend the same amount respect towards you that I would him. You are the Mrs. to his Mr. The Queen to his King, and all things homogenous.”

“Alright, Eugene,” Desa had chuckled, too tired to argue. She heard Drake lightly honk the horn on the truck, gesturing for her to join him. “You can call me whatever you want. Just make sure it’s not too outlandish.”

“I can’t make any promises.”

Eugene’s boyish, slight smile had made Desa’s face brighten. She’d bid him farewell, climbing into the truck next to Drake and pulling out her map. They’d left the sanctuary, bags filled with supplies.

The trip seemed shorter. When Desa spotted the train, she instructed Drake to pull off to the side. He did, parking the car and hopping out to follow close behind Desa.

The slain biters still lay, and Desa was relieved to find the crates right where she left them. Now, it was Drake’s turn to marvel and kneel, running his fingers across the faded print on the wooden box.

In a low voice, he said, “These particular missiles use M74 submunitions. Those are the explosives inside. They weight about a pound each, and each capsule is stuffed with over two-hundred of them. We’re talking over sixteen-thousand individual explosives.”

“That’s a lot.”

“Yeah. It is, holy shit,” Drake ran a hand across his face. “That’s enough to level the Sanctuary. And by ‘level’ I mean, in a sense that there’s nothing left.   
Desa’s face paled. She coughed, raising his eyebrows. “That much?”

“Yeah. Here’s the thing — if you want to use these things, I’ll have to disassemble the rockets and remove the submunition. We don’t have a launcher for these things and they’re way to heavy to transport manually.”

“Can you do it?”

Drake shrugged. “I’ll need tools. Battery powered tools. And some time — that’s going to be the hard part. I have duties back at the Sanctuary—”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it.” 

“Desa,” Drake looked at her, still crouched with uncertainty in his eyes. “Why are you keeping this from Negan?”

“Negan is not in a position mentally where he needs to have access to weaponry like this. I trust him, and I love him, but after what Father did to him…sometimes, he doesn’t think clearly. I don’t want him to hurt himself.”

“When he gets better, will you tell him?”

Desa didn’t have the heart to tell Drake that Negan would probably never, ever “get better.” She kept her eyes lowered and instead said, “I’ll tell him when the time is right. There’s more we have to do before then.”

“Let’s take apart these bad boys,” Drake began fiddling with the crates, grunting as he heaved the lid off the first. “That vest you brought back, I’m guessing it was from him?”

Desa looked over to where Drake was pointing. The biter hat she’d killed lay, slumped. She remembered, suddenly —  _Holloway._

“It was.”

“I wonder where this was headed?” Drake stared down at the pristine, white capped missile. “When things fell, there were talks about using nuclear weapons…I think everything went by so fast…”

“You still think about that?”

“I think about how things could have been worse. Undead, and radiation? A major shitshow,” Drake snorted. “Although, maybe all of us dying in a fiery explosion would have been better.”

“We may get that chance,” Desa stared down at the missiles. “Things are only just getting started.”

* * *

“Have you ever thought about us having a fucking baby?”

Desa stopped, her glass of water raised halfway to her lips. Negan was in bed, clad only in his boxers, staring up at the ceiling. Desa was still awake, scribbling down a list of materials she and Drake would have to find, the sheet of paper illuminated by lamplight. She sighed, letting her glass of water rest against the coffee table before saying, “I’ve never had the time. Jack…I was like a mother to him.”

“Things have changed,” Negan said wistfully. “What we’re building here…you fucking saw it, Desa. This place is fucking safe—”

“Negan,” Desa said slowly. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I’m not…afraid. Eventually, I’ll want children, but right now? I still have…things on my mind…”

Desa folded her paper up, hopping from the couch and joining Negan on the bed. He chuckled, wrapping his arms around Desa’s waist. He murmured, “What kind of things do you have on your mind, babygirl?”

Desa squirmed, groaning when she felt a surge of wetness between her legs, prompted by Negan’s low, suggestive purr. She slapped a hand against his skin, running her fingers through the light trail of hair on his chest.

“We’ll talk about babies later.”

Negan’s face fell, and Desa could see the gears in his brain turning. Softly, he said, “Were there kids at the Estate?”

“A few. Father…he, uh…” Desa scratched the back of her head, steadying her breathing as she recalled the memories. “I remember, when I first arrived with Jack, Mother was pregnant. Around six months or so. The baby didn’t make it.”

Negan was silent. His gaze dropped to the bedsheets.

“It was the only time I’ve ever seen him upset,” Desa murmured. “Although, that probably doesn’t mean much. There was one incident where I thought he’d gotten me pregnant — it was a false alarm.”

“I’m…glad,” Negan said. “Fuck, Desa…”

“I’m still moving on from all that. If I ever get to a point where I’m ready, I’ll tell you.”

“You’re fucking brave, Desa. I hope you fucking know that.”

“I love you,” Desa leaned over and pressed her lips against Negan’s forehead. In a soft voice, she said, “Goodnight.”

It didn’t take long for Desa and Negan to both fall into a slumber, Desa’s back pressed against Negan’s arm.

Desa was not rewarded with a dreamless sleep. Instead, her mind was filled with nightmares, terrifying images and visions.

She dreamt she was pinned to the forest floor, a gun to her head, alongside Negan, Simon, Arat, Laura, Drake…everyone she cherished, while Father’s eye was gaping, spewing blood like an infinity fountain onto Desa’s body, the liquid acidic. It burned away her clothes, eating at her skin, and she screamed — all the while Father laughed and plucked Lucille from the ground, standing over a begging, sobbing Negan. Ignoring Desa’s pleas, he lifted the bat over his head and brought it down, hard.

The impact sent Negan’s head slamming against the dirt. Blood gushed from his nose and mouth, and he shouted something unintelligible. Desa sobbed in pain and terror as Father lifted the bat once more, driving it against Negan’s skull again and again and again until his head was reduced to bloody, gooey chunks—

_“Desa!”_

She sat up. Negan was staring at her, his head very much intact, a look of horror on his face. He held Desa, murmuring for her to calm down, that he was here, that she was safe…yet the image of him, bruised and battered with his head smashed to a pulp, wouldn’t leave Desa’s brain.

“I had a dream that you died,” Desa blurted.

“It was just a fucking dream, Desa. I’m here. I’m not fucking going anywhere,” Negan said confidently. “I’m here, with you. Right fucking now.”

Desa’s hands were shaking, and she pressed them against the covers. Negan grasped them, and Desa closed her eyes, trying to regulate her breathing. After a few minutes of silence, her heartbeat ceased its pounding and her hands no longer shook. Sensing this, Negan pulled her against him.

“What prompted all this?”

“I need to stop thinking so much,” Desa replied. “I’m thinking to much. About everything.”

“Stop thinking,” Negan kissed the side of her neck. In the darkness, Desa heard him shift and press his weight against her. “I’ll fucking distract you.”

Desa felt him, long and hard, through his boxers. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back as his hand snaked around her throat. They didn’t speak, and the only noises came from the rustling bedsheets and their soft, breathy grunts and moans.

When Negan slipped inside her, she gasped, bucking her hips and fisting Negan’s hair between her fingers. He was right — this was a distraction. Thoughts of nightmares had fled her mind, replaced with the thought of him. His body, his fingers, his lips against her breasts and how good it felt.

“Back at Alexandria,” Desa breathed, “I said you could do whatever you wanted to me. We got interrupted before I could fulfill the promise.”

“Did you, now?” Negan nipped at her ear, and Desa grinned. “Well fuck, I’d better take advantage of that shit and make you feel fucking fantastic.

And without hesitation, he did.


	26. Chapter 26

“The supply list isn’t long. There are three primary points of interest, all within a short distance of one another. The full trip should take less than two days, give or take a few hours,” Eugene held out the piece of paper. Desa took it, tucking it into her pocket while Drake readied the truck.

“You never cease to fucking amaze me, Eugene,” Negan rested Lucille against his shoulder, before addressing Desa. “You don’t have to do this. I’m fucking thankful that you volunteered, but I could always send Laura or Regina—”

“It’s fine. I want to get out, stretch my legs,” Desa smiled, glancing over her shoulder at Drake. “Unlike Laura and Regina, I know what your favorite liquor brand is. If I see some, I’ll bring it back.”

“And  _that’s_  why you’re my fucking favorite.”

“That’s not the only reason,” Desa chuckled, standing on her tiptoes and pressing her lips against Negan’s. When she pulled away, she said, “I’ll come back in one piece. I promise.”

“You’d better.”

Eugene watched the exchange, dipping his head uncomfortably before saying, “This is a time-sensitive mission. The faster you find the supplies, the less likely any…undesirables are to stumble upon it, especially considering that these are items Alexandria and the others communities do not have in their less than adequate stockpiles.”

“We’ll go quickly, Eugene,” Desa said. She saw Negan smirk and spin on his heels, making his way back inside. Desa climbed into the truck, sliding into the passengers seat as Drake cranked the engine and took off through the gates.

“So…what’s our plan?”

“Get those supplies first, and then head to the tracks. I put the power tools in the back the other day.”

“Always one step ahead,” Drake chuckled.

Desa spread out the map, tracing the locations Eugene had marked with her finger. In a low voice, she said, “We’ll hit the farthest one first. Then circle back and do the others last. Then the tracks.”

“Don’t forget the truck.” 

“Yeah, that,” Desa snorted, rubbing her eyes. The sudden realization that they’d be driving separate hit her — the full plan consisted of snatching one of the leftover transport trucks from the Estate’s old outpost, stuffing them full of explosives, and then tucking it away somewhere in the woods. Sighing, she grumbled, “This is too complicated.”

“This is all we could really do. We needed a reason to leave, and Eugene’s supply list happened to a good excuse. Negan doesn’t suspect anything, right?” in a more concerned voice, Drake said, “ _right_?”

“Calm down. Don’t worry about that,” Desa waved a hand. “This is the hard part, and the only part you need to worry about. The rest is on me.”  
“I’ll accept that,” Drake sniffed, glancing over at the map. The drive continued in relative silence, and after a few minutes Desa felt herself drifting off. She barely remembered the rest of the trip, only waking when Drake grabbed her by the shoulder and shook.

“Wake up. We’re here.”

Desa sniffed, lifting her head and peering out the window. The auto store before them was, along with most of the buildings around, desolate. The front windows were shattered, and corpses littered the ground — unmoving, and very much dead. It was a telltale sign that at least one other group had been through the place, and Desa prayed they’d left all of Eugene’s “goodies” and opted for things like fuel and tires.

“I, uh…I don’t know how well-versed you are when it comes to machinery—”

“I’m not. Why do you think I’ve been asking you for help all this time?” Desa smirked, grabbing her gun and hopping from the car. She pulled Eugene’s list out of her pocket, glancing over it. “The only thing I recognize is ‘an old radio.’”

She handed the list to Drake. He read it over, nodding, before turning to Desa and saying, “Stay out here.”

“And risk the possibility of you getting hurt?”

Drake grimaced. “It’s a small store. I used to scavenge, remember?”

“Fine,” Desa raised her hand in a placating gesture, leaning against the truck while Drake stepped through the open door, gun clasped between his fingers. His boots crunched against broken glass, and Desa’s nerves immediately flared the second he was out of her sight.

Nothing happened. No roamers, no lurkers waiting for a victim. Drake returned with the supplies, tossing them into the back of the truck.

Their next two stops consisted of an old electronics store stuffed with vintage material, and, to Desa’s surprise, a small sports-oriented store. They encountered the undead only once, and it took no less than a minute for her and Drake to clear the area.

“Last but not least,” Drake sighed, pulling into the old Estate outpost. The transport truck — a small, half-semi with a faded logo on the side, sat waiting. Drake stayed in the car while Desa hoped out, a little cautious about driving such a large vehicle. Despite her fears, she slid into the drivers seat, snatching the keys from the dashboard console.

She followed behind Drake, shoulders tense the entire time. She was relieved the moment they reached the train tracks. After scanning the area for any dangers, she and Drake got to work.

Well, Drake got to work. He knew what he was doing, and Desa didn’t doubt him. She took watch, only stopping to hold something down or up or to hand Drake a tool. By the time night fell, she was covered in sweat, and Drake’s arms were streaked with grease. They’d transport the submunitions into the truck after tugging them from the missile, before looping around to the next one. And then the next. Until all eight missiles were taken apart, now empty shells.

“Where are we parking this thing?” Drake grunted, loading the last submunition into the truck. Desa assisted him and they pulled the door down.

“There’s a tunnel a few miles from here. It’s overgrown — vines everywhere. It’s not something you look for.”

“You’ll have to lead, then.”

Desa shrugged. “Fine by me.”

She felt more comfortable, driving, despite the deadly cargo in the back of the truck. It took her a moment to pinpoint their destination, and with the added stress of having to go off road, she felt that confidence begin to dwindle, and fast.

Desa found the tunnel, backing the truck into the deep, dark cavern while Drake took care of any straggling biters. Desa hopped out quick, making sure to cover what parts of the truck she could see with shrugs and foliage. When the deed was done, she wiped her hands on her jeans, glancing behind her at Drake.

“That…wasn’t as difficult as I thought it was going to be.”

“It’s because we did it together,” Desa said, sighing. She wasted no time in getting into the pickup truck, eager to get back to the Sanctuary. She was sweaty, hair sticking to her forehead, arms and legs tired from toting around heavy material. Drake seemed to share her sentiment because he, too, wasted no time in sliding into the drivers seat.

“There’s an old shed on the way back. You need supplies for that detonator.”

“Eugene’s list actually has most of it on there…although I’m not sure if he’d be down to share,” Drake murmured. He shrugged, peering up at the night sky. “I mean, we have time.”

Of course they did.

The took a detour to the shed, parking the car by the road and venturing into the forest. Like Desa had said, the shed was vacant and run down. Nonetheless, Desa and Drake ventured inside, guns drawn.

They were met with a lunging, undead corpse that Drake dispatched with a single swing of his machete. The body toppled, and Desa stood over it. Something was… _off_ about the biter, though Drake didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy scurrying around the building, practically salivating as he sifted through each shelf of supplies.

“There’s like…old school RadioShack stuff in here…” Drake exclaimed. “We have plenty of batteries. Duct tape, masking tape…hey, what type of liquor did Negan say he liked?”

Desa didn’t respond. She’d figured out  _why_  the biter seems to strange to her.

It looked familiar.

The man’s name was Steve. He was a Savior — a scavenger. Despite the large machete wound through his skull, Desa was able to recognize his red hair and freckled face. She knelt, ignoring Drake’s questioning, and flipped the corpse onto it’s stomach.

The back of his shirt was stained with blood, evidence of a gunshot wound right above his hip. And it was recent.

_Shit._

“Desa, what the hell—”

Desa barely managed to shout before Father used the butt end of his rifle to knock Drake unconscious. By the time Desa managed to draw her gun and fire, the bullet sailed and hit nothing. Father had ducked, sprinting with impeccable speed and throwing his entire weight against Desa.

The gun flew from her hand, and she landed, hard, against the shed floor. She reared up, fingers questing for her knife. When she looked up, she found herself staring into Father’s single eye, and then the butt of a gun as it came down hard across her face.

She felt nothing after that.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news - I actually know how and when this fic will end. Thank you guys so much for sticking with me all this time. I can't wait to share the rest with ya'll.

Dust mites were the first thing she saw when she awoke. Then concrete. Then a wooden wall. After sight came her sense of touch — the cool surface of the floor scratching against her cheek, and the painful sensation of rope rubbing against the thin skin of her wrists, which had been wrenched behind her back. It was around her ankles as well, keeping them tin place.

“Drake,” Desa croaked. She winced as pain shot through her skull. Then, louder, she said, “ _Drake_?”

She was in an unfinished portion of a home. The place was barren, and the first thing Desa did when she pushed herself into a sitting position was crane her neck and look out the window.

She was in Alexandria. She recognized the tops of the houses, and the faintest sliver of the impressive perimeter wall.

“Shit.”

“Were you calling my name?” Drake mumbled. Desa’s head whipped to the side and she saw him, tucked into a corner. He, like Desa, was bound. There was a nasty welt on his head, and his words were slurred.

“I was. Are you okay?”

“Nope. You?”

“I’m fine,” Desa rested her head against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut. “Father brought us here.”

“Or, Rick and his people rescued us from Father, and are negotiating with Negan right now,” Drake said. “I like that option better—”

The door opened, and in waltzed Father — Rick Grimes hot on his heels.

_Of course. Of. Fucking. Course._

Desa’s heart sunk. She wanted to scream, but her mouth felt dryer than sandpaper. Father looked groomed, his hair trimmed and a fresh bandage over his nonexistent eye.

Rick addressed Father first, letting his finger drift from Desa to Drake. “I know her — but what about him?”

“He’s valuable,” Father said nonchalantly. “Negan will be willing to trade.”

“Rick—”

“Be quiet,” Rick cut Desa off. “If you listen, nobody has to die.”

Desa glanced over at Drake. His eyes were wide, his lower lips quivering. He made a noise in the back of his throat, attempting to scoot closer to Desa. He stopped, however, when Rick approached and crouched down before her.

“Negan captured one of our people earlier today. We want her back, so we’re willing to make a trade,” Rick explained. “You for Sasha, your friend for Eugene.”

“I don’t know who Sasha is. But Eugene? Eugene is one of  _us_  now. He’s not coming back,” Desa spat. “Trade Drake for your friend.  _Keep_  me. You want vengeance. I can see it.”

“We don’t want vengeance,” Rick spat. “We want _justice_. We want our way of life back. We want  _freedom_ —”

“You’re more free now than you ever have been.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Rick stood, glancing over at Father. “I don’t want to hurt either of you. But I will if I have to.

Rick left. Father didn’t follow, eyebrows raised. He took Rick’s place, kneeling in front of Desa once more.

Desa spat, “They took  _you_  in?”

“Rick is  _generous_. He saw someone in need, someone mutilated and abused by Negan’s people, and made the right decision. I’m in his debt.”

Desa tried to lunge, but Father’s firm had pressed against the side of her face, pressing her cheek against the wall, hard. She could barely breathe, nostrils flaring as she struggled to move. Father’s breath was hot against her skin, and she heard Drake shout curses as Father leaned in closer.

“I searched your bag. I found a map. You and Drake were discussing the possibility of utilizing found explosives when I found you,” Father pulled away, still keeping a firm grip on Desa. He narrowed his one eye, relaxing his shoulders. “Would you like to tell me what that’s about?”

Desa groaned, closing her eyes. She said nothing, still struggling to breathe. The plaster of the wall dug into her skin, and she coughed.

“Let her go!” Drake sobbed, pulling against his bindings. Father ignored him, instead drawing a knife from his belt. He tapped the blade lightly against Desa neck, thinking for a moment

“ _You_ won’t break,” Father murmured. He released Desa, and she fell to the floor, gasping for air. Lazily, the knife rose and pointed towards Drake. “ _He_ will.”

Drake fell still. Desa’s shout echoed around the room.

“ _Don’t touch him!_ ”

Father backhanded Desa, hard. Her head snapped to the side, her mouth numb. She slumped against the wall.

“Shut up,” Father said bluntly. He stopped beside Drake, crouching once more. Still addressing Desa, he said, “You’re next. Trust me.”

Without speaking, he drove his knife into Drake’s shoulder. Blood gushed across his fingers, and Drake screamed — before he was promptly shushed by Father placing a hand across his mouth. He waited until Drake’s screams were reduced to gurgling sobs before removing his hand.

“I’ll kill you,” Desa snarled. She wiggled across the floor, fighting against her restraints, the entire time chanting, “I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you—”

“No, you won’t,” Father sighed. “ _Drake_ — answer  _honestly._  Where are the explosives?”

Through pained gasps, Drake said, “On the map…red circle with a question mark in the middle.”

“See,” Father yanked the knife free, chuckling. “That wasn’t so difficult! You were always the honest one, Drake. Always the weak one.”

Drake was crying. Father patted him on the back, leaving him slouched and bleeding. He wiped his knife on his shorts, making his way back over to Desa. He knelt back over her body, keeping his knife clutched between his fingers. Desa looked away, but she could feel his gaze on her. It made her sick.

“You,” Father tapped the knife once more against’s Desa’s neck. “What to do with you…there are a lot of things I want to do. I’m very tempted to slice open your belly and retrieve my other eye.”

“Do it,” Desa snarled. “Do whatever you want to me. Let Rick see what an animal you really are.”

“I’m no more of any animal than you are,” Father sneered. “It’s how we’re both still alive.”

The door bursts open. Father whipped around, quickly sheathing his knife as a figure entered the room. 

It was Carl. His eyes immediately focused on Desa, and the boy was silent for a few moment. Then, without introduction, he said, “They’re here.”

“Already?”

“Dad wants him,” Carl pointed to Drake, before noticing his wound. “What happened?”

“He attempted to attack me. I subdued him,” Father said simply. Via Carl’s orders, he hauled Drake to his feet. “He’ll live.”

Father bypassed Carl, clutching Drake by the collar. Carl didn’t follow, and when he looked at Desa, it almost seemed as if he were trying to say something.

He just gave up, shook his head, and left.

Desa gasped, resting her forehead against the concrete. She desperately struggled to remove her bindings, becoming more and more engaged when she realized that they wouldn’t budge. She was alone — outside, she heard shouts, and the sound of shuffling feet.

She pulled until her wrists were scraped raw.

_Saw against the wood._

Desa rolled over, stretching the rope as taut as it would go and furiously rubbing it against one of the unfinished beams. The friction caused the wood to chip, but Desa continued.

She stopped when she heard gunfire.  _Lots_  of gunfire.

_“Shit.”_

The door bursts open with enough force to crack the wood and send dust flying. Desa ignored the shouts and threats, eyes focused on sawing away at the rope. It stretched thinner and thinner and thinner—

“Get on the ground,” Daryl ordered, raising his crossbow.

It snapped. Desa shook the rope away and threw herself to the floor. An arrow embedded itself in the wall, right where Desa’s head had been. Before Daryl could reload, she swung her fist, catching Daryl in the back of the knee. His leg instinctually buckled, but before Desa could deliver another hit, the end of his crossbow slammed against her lower jaw.

The impact knocked her — literally — off her feet. Her cheek slammed hard against the concrete, and she gasped.

She lay still, groaning, eyes focused on Daryl’s boots. He rose, chest heaving. In a low voice he said, “Are you gonna’ stay down?”

Desa didn’t respond. Daryl began reloading his crossbow, only stopping when a tremendous roar shook the entire house.

In one swift move, Simon came barreling down the stairs like a bull, hoisting Daryl over his shoulder before flinging the man through the window and onto the grass.

Simon hadn’t even broken a sweat. He extended his hand, and Desa took it.

“Are you okay?”

“My jaw hurts,” Desa garbled, pressing a hand against the growing welt there. “I’ll live.”

“Good,” Simon squeezed Desa’s shoulder, before walking over to the shattered window. As Desa suspected, Daryl had gone.

Desa followed Simon, staying behind him. They emerged into the chaos outside, the peaceful aura of Alexandria shattered. Corpses littered the asphalt, and Desa could see Saviors, members of the Hilltop and the Kingdom and Alexandria alike, ducking behind cover, exchanging gunfire. In the distance, over near the wall, what looked like a tiger pounced and downed its victim. Smoke filled the air, providing adequate cover. The streets were a battlefield, with Desa and Simon both caught in the middle.

_“Simon!”_

A gloved hand waved from behind a car. Clutching Desa’s hand and keeping low, Simon made his way over. Smoke stung her eyes and dirt peppered her skin, and she let out a gasp of relief when she felt Negan’s arms wrap around her.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Negan barked. His arm holding Lucille was wrapped around Desa while his opposite hand held his gun. Simon fell behind cover as well, and Negan shouted, “Plan fucking B?”

“Plan B,” Simon grunted. Desa looked between the two men, yelping when the front lights of the car exploded in a shower of glass. “To the truck! Go!”

They broke from cover, Simon pushing Desa ahead of him while he fired his gun. Out of the corner of her eye, Desa saw Carl bounding across the grass, looking from side to side before his one eye met Desa’s.

She staggered, hesitated. The boy raised his gun, peering through the scope. Finger over the trigger. He had a clear shot.

Desa awaited the sting of a bullet, but felt nothing. When she glanced over her shoulder, Carl was standing, gun at his side. He was still staring at Desa, but made no attempts and firing.

_He let her live._

Desa threw herself into the truck. Simon practically piled on top of her and Negan slid into the drivers seat, flooring it and raising his middle finger out the window. Desa buried her face against Negan’s chest as he drove, and Simon gave a high-pitched whistle, punching his fists against the car ceiling.

“Fuck,” Negan leaned his head back, letting out a sigh. “That went fucking well.”

“Damn right,” Simon laughed. He relaxed, chest rising and falling as Negan drove along the desolate road.

Desa lifted her head, before checking the caravan of Saviors behind them. “Where’s Drake?”

“He’s fine. He’s with Arat and Laura.”

Desa’s shoulders slouched, and she absently rubbed the welt on her jaw. In a soft voice, Desa asked, “What does all of this mean, Negan?”

Without hesitation, Negan responded.

“It means that we are going to  _war_.”


	28. Chapter 28

They had a visitor.

Much to Desa’s dismay, Gregory was waiting for them. His suit was pressed and unwrinkled, although his formal outfit didn’t distract from the obvious air of nervousness around him. He was escorted by Regina, who looked just as unhappy.

“He wants to speak to you,” Regina said. Negan bypassed him, Desa in tow.

“Get him and room or some shit. I’m too tired to fucking deal with this shit right now.”

Shooting one last glance back at Gregory, and ignoring his pleas, Desa followed Negan up the stairs while Simon wrapped an arm around Gregory, seemingly happy that the older man had arrived. Desa wasn’t going to question it — Gregory and the Hilltop were Simon’s responsibilities. She was under no real obligation to care, no matter how much Gregory’s presence irked her.

“Do we have an particular plan?”

“ _Fight,_ ” Negan replied simply. He shut the door to his room, running fingers through his disheveled hair. After pacing for a bit, he said, “Listen, I’m giving you a fucking job. A fucking _big_ one.”

Desa stiffened, but said nothing.

“The people here — the fucking workers, the other Saviors, they  _trust_ you. They know what you’re capable of, where the fuck you came from,” Negan cradled Desa’s head between his palms, sighing. “From here on out, you’re my fucking right hand.”

“ _What_?”

“You heard me,” Negan smirked. “Simon isn’t going anywhere. Once all this shit blows over, he’ll still be in charge of the Hilltop. But you’ll be the person I go to.”

“I’ve never been promoted before,” Desa licked her lips. She peered over Negan’s shoulder, eyeing the bathroom. Making a faux noise of disgust and wrinkling her nose, she said, “You need a shower.”

“Really? That’s what you say after I’ve fucking promoted you?”

Once again, Desa stood on her tip toes so she could lightly bite Negan’s ear. One hand palmed his crotch and she murmured, “I’ll _thank_  you in the shower.”

“Oh, oh,” Negan snorted. “Fucking right. I get you, now.”

Desa ducked beneath his arm, darting into the bathroom and stripping before Negan could even get his hands on her. She turned the shower knob, yelping when cold water struck her skin. It only took a few moments for it to heat up, and she raised her arms over her head, stretching sore limbs. She chuckled when she felt Negan’s arms wrap around her, his lips latching onto her neck, his hard length pressed against her back. The dirt and grime washed from their bodies, disappearing down the drain.

Turning, Desa murmured, “ _Thank you_.”

“I know you can get that shit done better than anyone else,” Negan said. His breath hitched when Desa brushed her knuckles across his dick, eyes traveling downwards as Desa kissed from his jaw to his neck, down his chest and past his navel.

Desa’s slick hand wrapped around his cock, thumb swirling over the swollen head. She nipped on his lower lip, kissing him once more before sliding to her knees. The warm water was a stark contrast to the cool tile against her skin. She could smell the faintest hint of body wash as she gently wrapped her tongue around him.

His hand immediately went to tangle in her hair. The thunder of the shower wasn’t loud enough to mask Negan’s grunt. Desa closed her eyes in an attempt to keep out unwanted water, increasing her pace, bobbing her head until the muscles in her neck began to strain. She was attempting to ease him deeper and deeper into her mouth, unused to the feel of him against her tongue. She braced her hands against his trembling thighs, pushing her head forward, resisting the urge to gaga. Her nose brushed against the coarse hairs at the base of his dick, and she stopped.

“ _Holy fuck_.”

Desa pulled her head back, going slowly, lightly scraping her teeth against the skin. She sucked on the head before repeating the movement. In a matter of minutes Negan was a shaking, cursing mess. He came, grunting, watching with wide eyes as Desa swallowed it all.

Negan looked as if he were about to faint. Desa couldn’t help but laugh, standing  and fetching the bottle of body wash from the shower floor.

When they finished, Desa climbed into bed, nude, resting her head against the pillow and groaning.

“I don’t want to have to fucking deal with Gregory,” Negan said angrily. Desa saw him stop next to the bed, yanking on a pair of boxers before drying his hair roughly with his towel. “Can I just fucking kill him…get this shit over with.”

“Tomorrow. We’ll talk with him tomorrow. He probably has something important to say.”

“Doubt it,” Negan hopped into bed. “Tomorrow. I’ll deal with his stupid ass tomorrow,” He lightly slapped Desa’s rear, adding cheekily, “Goddamn you have such a cute, perky little ass.”

“I’ve never had anyone compliment my butt before.”

“Have you ever tried anal?”

Desa lifted her head, and her expression must have been humorous, for Negan burst out laughing. She said, “Could you have  _possibly_ been more blunt?”

“I was just fucking curious. Would you rather me beg?”

“Maybe.”

“Please can I stick it in your ass?” Negan massaged her rear with the palm of his hand, cooing. “Please, baby? Can we try it just once?”

“I have no words,” Desa buried her face in her pillow. “You are something else.”

“I have plenty of lube.”

Desa slapped Negan’s chest, groaning, “Maybe one day. I’m too sore right now.”

“Killjoy,” Negan murmured. Nonetheless, he wrapped his arms around Desa, kissing her damp head before flickering off the lights.

* * *

“You need to tell him,” Drake exclaimed, pushing off from the wall. “Desa, we could take those bombs, and we could end this.  _Today_.”

“Torching an entire community for  _one_  man,” Desa replied. She placed a hand on Drake shoulder, before quickly pulling away when he hissed in pain. She could see a sliver of his bandage poking out from beneath his shirt. Visions of what Father had done hit her, and for a moment, she was rendered speechless.

“ _Yeah_. Torch an entire community for one man, save our people in the process.”

“They have  _kids_  there,” Desa snapped.

“We have kids _here_ ,” Drake growled. “We have something in our arsenal that no one else has. You said you were saving those bombs for desperate times, right?  _These_  are desperate times.”

“It’s not desperate enough. Drake,” Desa stepped closer, steadying her breathing. “Trust me on this.”

“Don’t do something that will get us all killed, please” Drake brushed past her, and Desa sighed. The Negan, Simon, Eugene, Dwight, Regina and Gregory were seated on the other side of the door. Steeling herself, Desa opened it and, without saying a word, went and sat in the empty seat next to Negan. The entire time, Simon was watching her — his lips were pressed into a thin line, and he seemed to be feinting disinterest, although Desa could see something else swirling behind his dark eyes. Eugene was stoic and Regina sat, posture rigid, muscular arms crossed over her chest.  

Negan met her gaze, nodding subtly. Lucille was resting against his shoulder, and he snaked his free hand beneath the table to squeeze Desa’s thigh.

Desa resisted the urge to roll her eyes when Gregory began speaking.

“I’m, uh, grateful that you’re taking the time to hear me out. Especially considering the circumstances,” Gregory laced his hands together, eyes scanning the table. “As you may now, Rick and his gang of crusaders have brainwashed my people. We were farmers — not soldiers. They still listen to me. They still trust me. I think I can top this before it even starts.” 

“But… _I_ thought the  _widow_  was in charge?” Negan raised his eyebrows. “I mean, she was the one who led your people to Alexandria. You didn’t know about all that shit, right,  _Gregory_?” 

“It was out of my control…by the time I realized what was wrong, they’d already gone…”

_Liar._

Desa said nothing. She could practically smell the cowardice seeping from Gregory’s pores, and it made her sick.

Gregory noticed Desa unwavering stare, stammering, “I can talk my people down.”

“They’re still your fucking people, right?”

“I  _own_ the Hilltop,” Gregory stressed, straightening up. “Those people are  _mine._  They’ll listen to me.”

“If things don’t work out, there’s always option number two,” Simon shrugged, head lolling to the side as he looked back and forth between Negan and Desa. “I take some guys in, clear out the whole place, quick. Kill everyone inside—”

Gregory choked on his water.

“—unfortunate, but necessary,” Simon beamed, his face falling when Desa shot him a look of utter disgust, mirroring Negan’s.

“Hey,  _genius,_ ” Desa barked. “Hilltop is a  _farming_ community. They can’t  _farm_  if everyone is _dead_.”

Simon’s fingers curled into fist. Negan’s words were louder, angrier. “ _People_  are foundation of what we’re trying to build here. People are  _resources_. Get that shit through your thick  _fucking_ skull,  _Simon._ ”

“I was just taking precautions—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Negan waved Lucille, huffing. His eyes drifted towards the window, and in a low voice, he said, “What the hell…?”

Simulated, rhythmic gunfire sounded from outside. Desa jumped to her feet, and the others followed. Gregory tried hanging back, but Simon grasped his arm and hauled him forward.

“ _Showtime_ , Gregory,” Negan sneered. “Work your fucking magic.”

“Is it them?”

“Rick the prick and his group of hillbilly warriors,” Negan wrinkled his nose, peeking through the blinds. Gesturing to the door that led to the balcony, he said, “Alright. Let’s go fucking deal with this shit — Desa, I want you up top with a rifle. Now.”

Desa nodded. She headed to the armory, yanking one of the sniper rifles from its rack before bounding up the stairs and into an empty room. She rolled up the blinds before sliding the window open. Just beyond the fence, a cluster of nearly a dozen cars were parked. Crouched behind each were Rick’s people — Alexandrian’s, some members of the Kingdom and the Hilltop. All armed. It clearly wasn’t an impromptu attack — they had a  _plan_.

Father was with them. He hung back, but she could see the side of his bandaged face. Her lips twisted into a grimace, and as glanced through the scope, she spotted Rick peering from behind cover. From her angle, she didn’t have a clear shot, unless he shifted just a few feet to the left…

Not that Desa would fire, anyway. Not without Negan’s approval.

Rick’s word were loud, and they carried. Even from three floors above where Negan and the others were standing, Desa could hear clearly.

“If you surrender, right here, right now, you’ll live. All of you — except for one.”

_Negan._

“I know you people,” Rick continued. “Gavin. Dwight. Simon. Eugene—”

_“Regina.”_

Regina’s voice was just as loud, and just as powerful. Desa smirked.

“—right,” Rick shouted. His eyes travelled up, before he extended an arm and pointed straight at Desa. “And Desa. I  _see_ you.”

Desa bared her teeth at Rick, and even though she knew Rick wouldn’t hear, she growled.

“I’m giving you a chance to end this before it even starts.”

“So am I,” Negan said. Desa couldn’t see, but she heard shuffling and assumed Gregory had been yanked from the corner. The look on Rick’s face confirmed her suspicions — his face fell, and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Any members of the Hilltop that participates in this crusade will be kicked from the community,” Gregory exclaimed. To Desa’s surprise, his voice didn’t waver. “Turn around and go home. The Hilltop stands with Negan and the Saviors.”

 _“The Hilltop stands with Maggie!”_ A voice shouted. Desa rolled her eyes and sighed, peering through her scope once more.

Not a single person budged. There was some hesitation, some looks of worry, but everyone stood their ground.

Silence. Below, Desa heard Simon’s strong voice, followed by the sound of a body tumbling down the stairs.

“My offer still stands,” Rick shouted.

“Your offer ain’t  _shit_ ,” Negan replied. “Your people are going to fucking die, Rick.  _Just_ like last time. All because you felt the urge to play ‘my dick is bigger than yours.”

Rick raised his hand, nodding at Negan’s words. In a raspy voice, he shouted, “I’m giving you one last chance — don’t make me count!  _Three! Two!”_

“Go fuck yourself, Rick—”

Rick unloaded a barrage of gunfire that shattered glass. Desa ducked, before angrily grasping her gun and staring through the scope. She squeezed the trigger, and her bullet destroyed the side mirror of the car Rick was using for cover. He fell back, eyes frantically looking for where the bullet had come from.

He pointed, and shouted something. Desa yanked her head away from the window, covering her face with her hands as bullets sailed into the room, destroying the glass and peppering the walls with holes. Sticking to the corners, Desa kept her head down and threw herself from the room, using her foot to slam the door shut.

Slinging the rifle over her shoulder, she sprinted down the hallway. From within the walls of the Sanctuary, the constant gunfire sounded like a rhythmic, distant drum.

She nearly ran head first into Sherry. Without thinking, Desa pushed the woman to the side and shouted, “Get back inside the parlor!”

“What’s going on—”

“ _Now_!”

Sherry didn’t argue.

Desa made her way to the ground floor, frantically searching for any sign of Negan. The workers had disappeared into the higher levels, leaving the place empty. Her boots crunched against broken glass, and she stopped next to the double doors leading outside.

She could see Rick, crouched behind cover, still firing. Again, no sign of Negan — Desa wasn’t ready to fear the worst.

_Only one person has to die._

_He’s not dead. If he were dead, Rick and his people would stop attacking—_

Shit.

Desa pushed through the double doors, gun raised. Before she could fire a shot, a tremendous explosion rattled the entire Sanctuary, filling Desa’s line of sight with a blinding, white burst of light. The concussive force of the blast knocked her off her feet, fire singing her skin. She landed, hard, against the concrete.

She could barely hear the gunfire. Just a high-pitched, ringing noise in her ears. She extended an arm, grasping her gun from where it had fallen, before pulling herself back inside and shutting the door behind her.

_“Desa!”_

It was Regina. She slid to a stop, holstering her gun before hoisting Desa to her feet. Regina kept an arm around Desa, helping her hobble up the stairs to the higher levels. The gunfire had slowed to a crawl, just a few shots being exchanged, now.

“Where’s Negan?”

“Not sure,” Regina answered. Desa made an attempt to turn back, but Regina’s strong grip stopped her. “ _Desa!_  The courtyard is filled with biters—there’s no way you’d be able to go out there and look for him without getting yourself killed—”

“ _Let go of me_ —”

Regina was stronger, and Desa was dazed, still wobbling from the explosion. Regina shoved her, hard, against the wall, holding her steady by the shoulders.

Baring her teeth, Regina yelled, “You _cannot_ and  _will not_  go out there! You’re no use to anyone if you’re  _dead,_ do you understand _?”_

When Desa didn’t reply, Regina shook her.

_“Desa! Do you understand!”_

“I understand,” Desa stammered. She glanced back towards the stairs, rubbing her eyes before saying, “Is everyone else inside?”

“Simon, Dwight, Eugene,” Regina said. “Gavin, too. Everyone made it back in. Rick and his people are gone, but the place is flooded with biters. We’re trapped.”

Desa’s shoulders slouched, and she said, “Okay…go get everyone together in the meeting room. I’ll go make sure the workers are alright—”

“Leave the workers–”

“No,” Desa said. She shook herself from Regina’s grip, meeting the woman’s steely gaze. “There are children here. Pregnant women. Some of them might be hurt. Just do what I say, okay?”

“Negan left you in charge,” Regina murmured. She closed her eyes, exhaling through her nose. “Okay. I’ll go.”

“Thank you.”

Regina and Desa parted ways. She found the workers on the third floor, crowding the hallways. She picked her way through, ignoring the murmurs and whispers that soon delved into shouts.

_“Where’s Negan?”_

_“Is he dead?”_

_“Is Negan dead? What’s going on—”_

“The bottom floor is clear!” Desa shouted. The noise died down, and she glanced around at the crowd. “You can go back down, gather your belongings. Nobody is allowed in or out. We’ll bring water down for everyone soon.”

Stares. Whispers.

“Where’s Negan?”

“I don’t know,” Desa replied. “The best we can do is work with what we have, and stay together.”

Wordlessly, the workers began shuffling past Desa, heading back downstairs. While the workers went down, Desa went up. She pushed through the door of the meeting room, and was greeted with the sight of Simon, hunched over the table with his fingers curled into fists, Eugene cowering in his seat, and the rest — Gavin, Regina, Dwight — looking… _defeated_.

Simon lifted his heads, lips curling into a snarl. In an almost sickeningly sweet voice, he said, “So what’s the plan,  _boss_.”

“Plan A is for you to lose the attitude.”

Simon shot up, back rigid. It was Dwight who stepped in front of him, planting a hand on Simon’s chest as he attempted to advance, yelling, “ _Stop it_! Negan left  _her_  in charge — that was _his_  decision.”

“The last thing we need right now is infighting, _Simon_ ,” Desa snapped. “If you want to discuss  _that_ situation, you do it with me.  _Alone_.”

Simon’s eyes never left Desa. He sat, lacing his fingers together and opting for a silent glare.

“Start pulling out any stored supplies — food and water especially. Start rationing things out to the workers. Downstairs is clogged up — we’ll start moving people upstairs, women and children first, two too a room—”

“Desa,” Regina stressed.

“Those people downstairs? They’re resources. Just like you’re a resource,” Desa said. “One doesn’t matter more than the other—”

“She’s right,” Eugene said bluntly. “Desa. She’s right. Failing to provide adequate living conditions for the workers could possibly result in some sort of uprising. Considering our current situation, that is something we would be wise to avoid, no matter the costs.”

“This place is big enough for everyone,” Desa said. “Gavin and Jared can start assigning people spaces. Keep families together. Until we figure out a way to get rid of those biters, keeping our people alive is our top priority.”

“Do you have a way to deal with those undead freaks outside?” Simon said tersely.

She did.

Desa tried to hide the fact that her heart was sinking and her mind was racing. She knew exactly what to do, and she didn’t like it.

_It has to be you, then. No one else._

Steeling herself, Desa said, “A few weeks ago, I found some explosives in a crashed train car. Drake and I worked on the schematics — found out that they were military grade missiles. We stashed them in a truck and parked the truck under a tunnel.”

“Military grade?” Regina raised her eyebrows.

“I don’t remember the specific name. But it’s enough,” Desa explained. “If we stage this correctly, I can slip out from here, grab the explosives, and draw the biters away.”

“Just you?” Gavin asked quietly.

“ _Just_  me. There’s a gap in the fence. It’s how I got in here the first time and stabbed you, Gavin. Which I never apologized for. I’m sorry.”

“Save it. If getting stabbed is what it took to help make you one of us, I can deal with it.”

Desa ducked her head, hiding her grin. “I’ll get out and grab the bombs.”

“There’s a bridge about six miles from here. If you can somehow detonate that thing while the biters are on the bridge…”

“Take em’ all out,” Simon murmured. “Or, most of them.”

Desa let out a breath, nodding. “Yeah. That sounds like a plan. And it’ll work. I’ll make sure it works.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha ya’ll r going to either love me or hate me for this. But I’m proud of this chapter and I hope ya’ll enjoy it. We’re at the halfway point for this fic and thank you guys for sticking with me-I love all your reviews and I swear I’m going to try and start replying to all of ya’ll.

_Make it work, Desa._

_You have to._

She crouched next to the shattered window, in the empty room where she’d watched Rick’s assault of the Sanctuary. The biters were milling around outside, stepping over blackened, burnt debris. The herd was tightly packed, and even though Desa was small, she wasn’t… _that_ small.

She reached over and grabbed her rifle from where it rested on the dusty floor. She peered through the scope, squinting as she tried to pinpoint any familiar features on the undead. A leather jacket. Slick hair. Stubble.

She didn’t see Negan’s lifeless, pale face amongst the horde. There were far to many of them, regardless.

“Fuck.”

Desa rested her head against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut. She didn’t try and hold back the hot, wet tears that flowed down her face. She raised her arm and cried into her sleeve, muffling the noise.

_He’s gone. He has to be._

_There’s no way._

She sat on her hunches, grabbing her bag and rummaging through its contents. She found her pen and notepad at the bottom, not hesitating to rip away a piece of paper.

She began to write.

When she finished, she folded the paper and tucked it into her pocket. She rose, grabbing her bag and her rifle. Simon was waiting for her outside, glancing at her red-rimmed eyes, but saying nothing.

Desa bypassed him. She stopped when, in a hoarse voice, Simon said, “Don’t do this by yourself.”

“I thought you wanted me to get myself killed because I took your spot—”

Simon surged forward, stopping when he was towering over Desa. In a low voice, he said, “Don’t you  _dare_ say that shit. I care more about _you_  than I do some  _stupid_  position,” he gnawed on his lower lip, before saying once more, “Don’t go by yourself. Let me send someone with you — Dwight or Arat—”

“I want all of them here, holding this place down. Negan  _will_  come back,” Desa stressed. “I have to believe that. I can’t run this place forever…no matter how much of a leader people think that I am, I _can’t_ …” she shook her head, yanking her note from her pocket. She handed it to Simon and said, “If I’m gone, and he comes back…please give this to him.”

Simon nodded. Almost hesitantly, he said, “Drake is looking for you.”

Desa followed Simon down the stairs, where Drake was waiting, looking out one of the windows. As Simon and Desa approached, he said, “So…how are you going to sneak out of here again? And do it… _without_  dying?”

“Biter guts,” Desa replied simply. “I’ll cover myself in their scent. Have snipers posted on lookout.”

Drake shrugged his backpack from his shoulder. He tossed it to Desa, and she caught it. It was surprisingly weighty, and she glanced up at Drake and raised her eyebrows.

“The detonator and the submunition are in there,” Drake explained. “The actual ‘trigger’ is attached to the submunition — the radio sends the signal, and…boom,” he grinned cheekily. “Chain reaction. It goes up in flames, and so do the rest. All _you_  have to do is flip the switch.”

Desa held the bag by the straps, nodding. “The quicker we do this, the less chances there are of someone getting hurt or Rick striking again.”

“You’re  _crazy_ ,” Drake said. “Although, you’ve always been crazy.”

Desa embraced him. When she pulled away, she said, “Yeah. I know.”

Her heart was heavy as she and Drake parted ways. She made her way to the ground level, Simon hot on her heels. Regina and Dwight were waiting by the door, both armed.

“Snipers are in position,” Dwight said. He eased open one of the double doors, giving a sharp whistle. Immediately, several of the undead began hobbling towards the noise. With Regina’s help, they managed to stab a biter through the forehead before dragging it’s body inside, slamming the door shut behind it.

Desa stared down at the corpse, wrinkling her nose.

“You’re  _really_ taking one for the team, here,” Simon clapped Desa on the shoulder. She held her breath, drawing her knife and deftly slicing through the stomach of the biter corpse. Blood, sinew, and guts spilled onto the floor. Regina helped her drape the sticky, gooey array of putrid smelling intestines across her shoulder and down her shirt. She took a risk and breathed through her nose, gagging at the smell.

“That is  _foul_ ,” Simon said.

Desa stood. Dwight, Regina and Simon immediately took several steps back, saving themselves from the odor. Ignoring the disgusting feeling of blood dripping down her skin, she rolled her shoulder and retrieved her handgun and her knife, slipping them into their respective holster and sheathe. Next was the bag containing the detonator.

“I expect to see you back here soon, ya’ hear?” Regina cocked her hip, poking Desa in the chest with one slender finger. “Be safe.”

“Sure you don’t want a hug?”

Regina rolled her eyes, but chuckled and said, “ _Hell,_  no.”

“The minute we hear an explosion, we’ll send a team out to get you,” Simon said. “Understand? We’ll come to you.”

“Thank you, Simon.”

“Godspeed.”

After the final goodbye, Desa slipped out into the unknown.

* * *

She blended in, walking slow and steady. Undead corpses brushed up against her, but none paid her any mind. She’d occasionally glance over her shoulder, back up at the Sanctuary, where she saw the snipers perched on the balconies and through windows.

She could see the small gap beneath the Sanctuary’s fence, most likely caused by a digging animal. She walked faster, carefully picking her way through fallen bodies and debris. When she reached the fence, she tossed the bag over before sinking to the ground, flattening herself as best as she could and shimmying through the small gap. When she emerged on the other side, she grabbed the bag and broke into a run.

Desa was still covered in guts, giving her an edge over any incoming biters. Most simply ignored her. A few, spurred on by how quickly she was moving, hobbled over to investigate. She slipped past them, following the main road until she finally reached where they’d stashed the truck.

It was still there, parked inside the tunnel. Desa tore away the vines and leaves used to conceal the exposed hood, before hoping inside the truck. She placed both hands on the steering wheel, basking in silence.

She started the engine, hesitantly testing the gas. The truck lurched forward, bouncing onto the main road. Desa drove quickly, coming to a screeching halt in front of the Sanctuary. The vast herd of biters turned at the noise, and Desa slammed her palm onto the horn. 

_Come on, come on…_

A biter began lurching forwards, growling. Then another. Desa threw the car into reverse, backing up a few paces before honking the horn once more. She repeated the process, backing up, honking, backing up again. The biters followed in a long, steady stream, and once the Sanctuary courtyard appeared relatively clear, she turned the truck around, adjusting the rearview and watching as the herd of biters began to pursue her.

She pulled the map out of her bag, spreading it out across the passengers seat. The bridge was marked, and Desa began following the route Regina had highlighted for her, occasionally checking the rearview to ensure that the herd was still behind her. She kept a good distance between the truck and the herd, making sure to honk her horn and egg them on.

_Six miles._

_Three down, three to go._

She placed the detonator on the passengers seat, next to the map, before dropping the submunition in the floorboard.  She checked behind her once more, smiling a bit when she saw the herd still following.

_It’s working._

She threw her head back and cried out in triumph, beating her fists against the steering wheel. When she saw the bridge in the distance — concrete, stretching across a roaring river, she licked her lips, eager to make the final stretch.

Desa’s smile disappeared the moment she felt a cord loop around her neck from behind, yanking hard and rendering her unable to do anything but gasp for air and flail her arms. The detonator slipped and fell from the passengers seat, onto the floorboard.

“You _really_  thought you could pull this off?”

Father was wedged behind Desa’s seat, having emerged from the back of the truck unseen. The extension cord was pulled tight against Desa’s throat, choking her.

She inadvertently hit the gas. The truck lurched forward, increasing it’s speed, and Father’s grip slackened — though not enough for Desa to break free. He quickly caught himself and pulled even tighter, chuckling at Desa’s raspy gasps for air.

_Can’tbreathecan’tbreathecan’tbreathe—_

“You’re going to die, just like Jack,” Father taunted. “You want to know what he told me, before Mother stuck a needle through his eye? He begged me not to kill you. He took the blame for everything. A brave boy, if I say so myself, but a stupid one at that—”

The truck rumbled, and Desa did the first thing she could think of — grasping the wheel, she spun it as hard as she could. The front tire caught on a raised ledge, before the entire thing went careening to the side, sending Father flying and the rope slipping from around Desa’s neck. The truck landed hard, the windows exploding in a shower of glass. Sparks flew and Desa saw, for a split second, the detonator fall past her and out of the truck, while the submunition landed against her chest.

The truck stilled. Desa shoved the submunition away, hands searching frantically for the detonator. She struggled to climb out, kicking open the door above her and slipping from inside, onto the bridge.

The herd was farther behind, but the noise of the crash was enough to send them hobbling. They were distant, but approaching with a renewed desire for flesh.

 Desa turned to the truck, groaning. It was smoking a bit, tendrils seeping past the crumpled hood.

_The detonator. Where is it—_

The cord wrapped around her throat once more, Father’s lips pressed against her ear. Desa threw her weight to the side, and then both fell, a heap of sprawling limbs against the asphalt. She elbowed Father twice in the nose, prompting him to release her. She kicked the extension cord away, gasping for air as Father rose to his feet and lunged, fumbling with something at his belt.

A knife.

Desa screamed, though not in pain or terror. The blade narrowly avoiding slicing open her throat, and she threw her full weight against Father, only to find herself being tossed like a rag doll against the faded logo on the side of the truck.

She hit, hard, and slumped to the ground. She hadn’t the energy as Father grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to her feet before he backhanded her so hard that she saw a burst of stars. The truck rattled as she impacted the side once more, mouth open in a silent gasp as blood trickled from her mouth and nose.

_Fight back—_

The knife pierced the skin above her hip, digging deep. Father looked surprised that he’d landed a blow, and Desa took advantage of his lapse in concentration and bit him, square on the ear. His screams were like music to Desa, and despite the sudden, sharp pain from yet another knife wound to her thigh, she held on, and _pulled._

Cartilage and sinew came with Father’s left ear, the side of his face reduced to a bleeding stump. He pulled his knife free, the handle and blade slippery with Desa’s blood, before driving it into her shoulder, where it stuck.

The sound of gasoline wafted across Desa’s nostrils. She backed up until her back hit the truck, Father’s detached ear clutched between her bloody teeth. Father fell to one knee, before yanking the bandage from his eye off and pressing it against the gaping wound.

His eye was just a socket. Desa could see where she’d carved away the flesh.

With a shaking hand, Desa reached up and pulled the knife from her body. The blade slipped free after a few sharp tugs, and, using the truck for support, she got to her feet and spat Father’s ear onto the asphalt.

One of her eyes was swollen shut, her mouth and nose leaking blood. She could barely hold the knife steady, and she raised it before her as Father attempted to make a move, but lost his balance and nearly fell.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“I’m going to kill you, too,” Desa glanced over and saw that the smoke was now billowing, flames licking away at the inside of the truck. The smell of gasoline was overpowering, and Desa found herself grinning as the moaning, grunting sounds of the undead filled her ears.

She rushed Father like a linebacker, hitting him as hard as she could. He was unbalanced, she he could only hold onto Desa as they toppled over the edge of the bridge.

Water filled Desa’s lungs, and she flailed as she felt Father attempt to grab her by the arm. The current was powerful enough that it send them both tumbling head over heels, torn apart by the force of nature. Desa couldn’t see, and her hands struggled for purchase against the slippery, moss covered rocks beneath the waves. She was only able to get her bearing when she surfaced, gripping a fallen tree limb hanging over the water before pulling herself onto the muddy riverbank.

She turned to the bridge, watching the chain reaction as the truck erupted, followed by the submunitions that exploded with enough force that knocked Desa off her feet, despite the river having carried her a safe enough distance. Light filled her vision, and Desa stayed on the ground as a wave of heat washed over her, followed by a plume of smoke.

The bridge sighed, and then cracked apart. Whatever biters had survived the blast plummeted into the river below, along with a mountainous amount of concrete and steel.

Desa stood and turned back to the forest, catching a glimpse of Father’s maniacal expression before he struck her across the face. The moment her back hit the dirt, he was on her, wrapping his fingers around her throat. He squeezed, planting a knee against her chest.

“Your father is ashamed of you.”

“My father is _dead_ , with my mother and sister,” Desa struggled to wheeze. “You are  _nothing_  to me. _Neither_ of you were.”

Blood from Father’s wound dripped and landed on her parted lips. She felt her extended, questing hand land against something hard and jagged.

“The job is done. I finished my job,” Desa croaked, clutching the object as her vision began to fade. “And you have, too.”

Desa drove the rock, hard, against Father’s jaw. He pulled away, shrieking in pain as Desa leaped onto him, the rock in her hands becoming dotted with blood as she drove it against his head, once, twice, three times until he slouched, landing on his back, face bleeding and unrecognizable.

She screamed. She hit him again. His foot and finger twitched, mouth opened in a plea that Desa ignored. She hit him again with the rock, feeling his teeth shatter from the impact. Then again. And again.

Again. Again. Again. The tiny pools of water around her became crimson. Again. His skull crunched and caved. Again.

Desa used the rock until there was nothing left of his head, just a gooey, sticky mess of blood and brain.

Then she rolled over and vomited. Then she lay there, next to a corpse, wounds leaking.

And she  _laughed._

Her hair was caked with mud, body covered in soot, blood, and her own vomit. The coppery taste flooded her mouth, and she spat onto Father’s corpse.

“Fuck you,” she giggled. “ _Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.”_

Her words rose in volume until she was hunched over Father’s body screaming, “Fuck you.  _Fuck you, fuck you!”_

A twig snapped from the woods behind her. Grabbing the rock she’d used, she spun and raised it.

A dozen biter faces stared at her. But they weren’t biters — they didn’t walk like biters. Their movements were methodical and calculated, rhythmic. 

Human.

_Am I in a dream?_

“I’ll kill you,” Desa shrieked. She raised the rock higher, stumbling forward. The biters stopped, and Desa could see the life in their eyes. She chuckled and said again, “I’ll kill you. Come closer. I’ll kill you. I’ll—”

Her words faded away as the ground — and unconsciousness — rushed up and smacked her in the face


	30. Chapter 30

“She’s gone, Negan. We didn’t find her at the pickup point.”

Negan stared past Simon, at the wall behind his head. Lucille, clean and sparkling, sat on the table before him.

“She’s not fucking gone. Send them out again. They missed shit — they always do—”

“ _Negan_. They  _looked_ ,” Simon slammed his palm against the table. Negan didn’t even flinch. “The bridge was collapsed. The herd is gone — she did her job. She saved us.”

_She saved you._

Negan grabbed Lucille and stood, pushing his chair to the side. He bypassed Simon without a word, nearly slamming the door in the man’s face — Simon caught it, hurrying into the hallway, rounding on Negan before he could take another step.

“There are other things we need to attend to. Desa made her decision — she made her sacrifice.”

“Get out of the fucking way before I fucking kill you, Simon.”

Reluctantly, Simon turned to the side, allowing Negan to pass. There was something foreign in his eyes, something Negan had only seen once before — during their first meeting.

Hostility.

Negan raised a gloved finger and drawled, “Careful how you’re fucking looking at me, Simon.”

Simon ducked his head and said nothing. Whistling, Negan headed down the stairs and out the front doors of the Sanctuary. Several of the workers watched him go, kneeling on the ground, tools in hand as they repaired the perimeter fence. Negan ignored them, still whistling a little tune as he lifted Lucille, letting her rest against his shoulder. He headed down the empty road, and did not look back.

That was, until half a mile. Footsteps on the asphalt prompted Negan to turn, hand shooting towards the gun holstered at his side.

It was Drake. He stopped, the front of his shirt soaked with sweat.

“Where are you going?”

“What the fuck are you doing out here?” Negan snapped. “Did you fucking come all the way out here for me? Go back to the fucking Sanctuary, Drake.”

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“What? You think I’m a fucking pussy who can’t take care of my own shit?” Negan spread his arms wide. “Get the fuck out of here, Drake.  _Go_.  _Back._  I don’t want to be responsible for you, especially if you’re just going to get yourself fucking  _killed_  like the rest of them.”

“Like the rest of who?”

A biter came stumbling from the woods, groaning. Rolling his eye and clenching his teeth, Negan swung Lucille and sent the biter toppling.

“Like everyone fucking else, Drake,” Negan turned to the tree line as several more biters stumbled from the foliage. Negan’s nerves flared and his blood began to boil. He raised Lucille and brought her down, hard, upon a biters skull before moving on to the next one.

Drake was doing nothing — the biters were all focused on Negan as he howled and screamed and swung Lucille with such rage that he was sure he’d dislocated his shoulder. The tears falling from his eyes mixed with the blood on his skin, and it wasn’t until the last biter fell that he realized the piled, circle of corpses around him.

With as much strength as he could muster, Negan said, “Go the fuck home, Drake. There’s nothing for you out here.”

“There is. You _know_ there is—”

Negan turned his head. Drake’s determined stare prompted him to say, “You helped her with those fucking explosives. What are the odds that she’d survive a blast that large?”

“Nonexistent.”

“And there’d be nothing left of her, right?” Negan rasped. “Just charred bones and shit. Maybe her shoes. Maybe not. You can live without seeing that shit, Drake.”

“If there’s even the slightest chance that she survived—”

“Don’t fucking lie to yourself,” Negan shook his head. “She’s fucking _gone_. But I’m fucking out here anyway because I’m lying to myself,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, turning his back on Drake and continuing to walk. Over his shoulder, he added, “I have to find her body — even if she is a walking fucking corpse I have to put her down. I can’t just fucking leave her out here like that. I just fucking _can’t._ ”

Drake didn’t respond, but Negan heard footsteps. Drake wasn’t leaving. He followed at a safe distance, hands in his pockets.

The bridge, just like Simon had said, was destroyed.

And Desa was nowhere to be found.

Negan stood at the edge, staring down at the rushing river. He could see chunks of concrete and steel poking up from beneath the water, and the air still smelled heavily of smoke. He and Drake had maneuvered over steaming, blackened corpses, most of them having been completely obliterated from the blast.

None of them were Desa’s. Even in their mutilated state, Negan knew. He’d be able to pinpoint her face out a crowd of millions, if he had to. When he glanced down, all he could see was water. And concrete. And the more he looked and the more his mind left him, the closer he got to the edge. 

I would be so, so easy to jump. Drake wouldn’t be able to follow, then. Negan could just fall and splatter against the jagged concrete. For a moment, he teetered, considering the possibility of what death would _finally_  be like.

“Negan?”

Drake pulled him back into reality. In a low voice, Negan replied, “Yeah?”

“She could still be out there,” Drake stared down at the water, eyes unblinking and sad. “She’s strong. Sometimes I think she’s too strong for even something like death—”

“So did Father.”

“And look at him. He’s out and running around,” Drake gave a feeble smile, reaching out and placing a comforting hand on Negan’s shoulder. In a soft voice, he said, “Listen. I never thanked you, really…you took my people in, even when you didn’t have to. I’ll never be able to repay you for that. You’re a good man. If Desa were here, she’d agree — and she’d also agree that none of this is on you.”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be able to pretend that I’m alright,” Negan murmured. “I’m not. Shit. I’m fucking not okay. I haven’t been. I see Father at night, and now, when I wake up, I won’t see her.”

“You’ll see me,” Drake tried to smile, before flinching. “Shit. That can be taken so many different ways. Okay. Uh, what I meant was, I’ll help you. I’ll try.”

“I appreciate that shit. I really do,” Negan furiously wiped a stray tear away. Letting out a breath, he glanced over at Drake before looking around. In a low voice, he said, “Let’s go back. There’s got to be a fucking car around here somewhere — this walk was long as shit.”

* * *

“We strike back tonight. Let Rick the fucking prick know that the shit he pulled? It won’t fucking happen again. Simon and Drake will stay here — watch over things. The rest of you — except for Eugene, because he’s shit with a gun — It’s bombs away.”

Regina, Gavin, Simon, Dwight and Eugene stared back at Negan.

Drake didn’t.

He sat, head ducked, twiddling his fingers together. Sitting in the meeting room made him uncomfortable. He felt like an intruder, meddling with something he didn’t understand. His mind was racing, and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to flee or stay put.

“Drake?”

He lifted his head. Regina was staring at him. The meeting had concluded, and Gavin and Eugene had left, leaving Regina sitting and Negan speaking briskly to Simon in a corner.

The room felt empty without Desa. Drake didn’t want to dwell on it too much, however.

“I’m okay. I’m fine, I’m just…dehydrated, probably.”

“Bullshit. What’s going on? You can tell me.”

“When will all this end?”

“When we win,” Regina said simply. “And we  _will_ win.”

Eventually, the room emptied out. Drake had yet to move, still sitting at the table with his hands in his lap. He heard footsteps, and when he looked up, he was surprised to see that he wasn’t alone. Simon had also stayed, and he was leaning against the wall with a confident look on his face, arms crossed. He glanced over at the closed door before sighing and saying, “You know, I’m starting to think you’re the only person around here with any sense left. Besides me, of course.”

“Why do you say that?”

Simon pushed away from the wall, pulling out a chair and taking a seat next to Drake. He raised a finger and said softly, “I’m going to be rather blunt here. Straight to the point — I _hate_  exposition. Negan? He’s gone off his rocker. I knew it was only a matter of time.” 

“He’s grieving.”

“ _No_ ,” Simon leaned forward. “It’s more than that. You and Desa came from the same place — you know what went down at the Estate. Whatever happened to Negan there, he came back different. I’m afraid Desa’s unfortunate demise was the final nail in the coffin.” 

“I’m not sure why you’re telling me this,” Drake shifted uncomfortably. Simon’s smile was a mile long.

“I’m telling you this, because I think Negan needs to be relieved of duty. Until he can get his head straight, that is,” Simon’s face fell when he noticed Drake’s stupefied expression. “You and I both know it. Negan is a  _different_ man. He was from the moment he came back here. He can’t make the  _hard_ decisions anymore. He doesn’t understand what he has to do. The moment Rick Grimes and his rabid followers decided to go against us, Negan should have put a bullet through each one of their heads.  _Everyone_. People are resources, but people can be  _replaced_. We can’t let that type of behavior fly. Not anymore.”

“What are you suggesting we do?” Drake murmured, trying not to meet Simon’s gaze as he pretended to analyzed the chipped wooden table before him.

“Desa sacrificed herself, and she did so because there was no other choice. Desa would still be alive if Negan had gone ahead and taught Alexandria a lesson when he had the chance,” Simon growled. “He’s just as responsible for her death as Rick Grimes.”

Drake finally looked at Simon behind hooded eyes. There was a dull anger boiling inside him —

Simon was…right.

Negan wasn’t fit to lead. Not right now, at least. He could see it in the man’s posture, in his voice. It was as if he’d decided to simply ignore the fact that Desa was gone and he was…wilting away.

“When you say…remove him from duty…”

“We let him know that he needs to take a step back. Let someone else take the reigns until he’s made a full recovery,” Simon shrugged. “You and me. Mainly me but — I trust you, Drake. You’re smart. You’re loyal. You could do great, great things going forward. But I need your help.” 

“Why me?”

“You’ll do it for  _her,_ ” Simon said. “I know you will. When he gets back from Alexandria, we’ll have a talk. The three of us. You, me, and Negan. Lay things out, see what our options are.”

Drake sighed, glancing back down at the table. In a small voice, he said, “Okay.”

“You’re in?”

“I’m in. But we talk to him, first,” when Drake lifted his head, he found Simon dangerously close, the man’s eyes swirling and his mouth stretched into a smile — this time, it seemed strained. Hollowly, Drake added, “I’ll help you. I promise.”

“You’re a good man, Drake.”

“I try to be.”

“Well, you are. There aren’t many people like you left,” Simon stood, clapping his hand against Drake shoulder and squeezing, just enough that Drake could feel how strong he really was. “You made the right decision. Keep doing that, and we’ll get along just fine.”


	31. Chapter 31

Fear was gripping Drake’s heart, it’s hold so powerful that it rendered him almost immobile. There was nothing he could do. Nothing.

Simon would kill him.

He’d seen what the man was capable of. He’d sat with a straightforward look on his face, nodding to each of Simon’s instructions. Wait for Negan. Lock the door. Let _him_ do the talking.

Drake sat, awaiting Negan’s return from Alexandria, knowing full well that there would be no “talk” or “exploring options.” Simon was taking advantage of Negan’s weakened state, taking advantage of the fact that Negan, for all intents and purposes, was  _ready_  to die.

But Drake wasn’t. The fear gripping him was the fear of death.

“I’ve waited  _so_  long for this,” Simon breathed, leaning against the wall next to Drake. “Afterward, we’re going to burn it all. Everything. The Kingdom, Alexandria, Hilltop…take everything they have, stockpile it up. Kill everyone and everything and then thin out the Sanctuary, have the workers fill in the blanks.”

“Uh-huh.” 

“I can’t have you  _nervous_ , now,” Simon turned to face Drake. “She’s _dead_  because of  _him_. She’s dead because  _he_  couldn’t make the hard decisions. Desa paid the price for that.”

“I know,” Drake murmured, closing his eyes.

“You, better than  _anyone_ , should know what happens when a leader isn’t checked,” Simon hissed. He glanced over his shoulder, jerking his chin towards the parlor. “All the wives are out. I made sure we had some space, just in case things get out of hand.”

_Oh, they will._

“Go in there.”

Drake obeyed. His feet carried him, almost on their own accord, into the parlor and into Negan’s room. Simon was hot on his heels, practically giddy with excitement. As Drake tried to sit on the couch, Simon scolded him and said, “Remember what I said about the door?”

“Right,” Drake immediately stood, walking over to hover near the door. Simon took a seat on the couch instead, looking as if he belonged. He opened the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table, pouring himself a glass before pouring another, which Drake assumed to be Negan’s.

Poison?

No. Simon took a sip before Negan entered the room. Drake heard footsteps, glancing over his shoulder as Negan came strolling through the door, hair disheveled, a large bruise forming on his face.

He tossed his barbed baseball bat onto his bed, stopping abruptly and raising his eyebrows when he saw Simon on the couch, and Drake by the door. Simon lifted his glass and said, “Welcome back!”

“It took longer than I fucking expected,” Negan rolled his eyes, shrugging off his jacket and plopping down on the couch across from Simon. He reached for his own glass, raising it to his lips and saying, “This is a  _nice_  fucking scene to come back to.”

“Did you bomb the place?” 

“We fucking bombed everything.”

Simon hummed, taking a sip before setting the glass down onto the table, letting it bump against the edge. That was Drake’s cue — while Negan was preoccupied, he gently eased the door shut before turning the lock as quietly as possible.

His heart hammered. But he was frozen, his mouth as dry as sandpaper.

“You want a drink?” Negan glanced over in his direction.

“I’m alright.”

“Why are you so fucking pale? You look like a ghost just sucked you off or some shit like that—”

“Negan,” Simon interrupted. “I think we need to address some… _pressing_ matters.”

“Like what?”

Then, Drake saw it — the faintest glint of a knife at Simon’s hip. He kept silence, unable to look away. He could hear his own heart pounding, and he was surprised nobody else heard it as well.

“You’re lost, Negan. Desa dying has left your judgement clouded—”

“The  _fuck_? What the fuck are you talking about?” Negan set his glass down, leaning forward. The snarl on his face was animalistic. “My judgement is fucking fine, thank you the ever-loving fucking much!”

“You and I both know that’s a lie.” 

Negan’s eyes narrowed, and he eased back, crossing his arms. In a low, eerily calm voice, he said, “Alright.  _Enlighten_  me.”

“You, unfortunately, are not fit to be a leader. Not anymore. You came back from the Estate and you dragged us  _all_  down — you have been, but never like this. We lost the Outpost. Bud. Paula. Donnie. Michelle. And now  _Desa_  — all because of your pathetic hard-on for Rick Grimes—”

“You sound like a jealous fuck, Simon. You’d best shut the fuck up before I  _make_ you shut the fuck up—”

Simon chuckled, the noise ebbing away into a sigh. In a loud voice he said, “On behalf of everyone here at the Sanctuary, I hereby relieve you of duty.”

Quick as lighting, Simon snatched his half empty glass of whiskey and tossed the liquid in Negan’s face. Drake could only flinch as he yanked out his knife, intending to slice Negan’s throat — a hard kick to his jaw stopped him. He toppled from the couch while Negan rolled away, furiously wiping his eyes.

_“Simon, you sack of shit! Fucking asshole fuck—”_

Negan’s eyes immediately landed on Drake.

Drake didn’t move.

“You’ve got to be  _fucking_ kidding me—”

Negan’s words were cut short as Simon hit him with the strength of a linebacker, driving him, hard, against the wall. The noise shook the room and paintings toppled from their hooks, the furniture rattling. Negan grunted as Simon delivered a hard punch to his gut, before gripping his shirt and tossing him across the room. Negan flipped, hard, over the couch and onto the floor, lying on the carpet in shock.

Still, Drake did nothing.

Simon discarded his knife, and instead tugged one of the couch cushions from its moorings. Negan was barely struggling — his gaze drifted across Drake, and he feebly pawed at Simon as he was sat upon, yells stifled as the cushions pressed against his face.

He was ready to die.

“Shhh,” Simon hushed Negan, pressing his full weight against the cushion as Negan writhed beneath him. “Quiet, quiet,” then, he hissed, “Drake — go get my knife. It’s under the table. Can’t him turning.”

Negan had gone limp, though his fingers were twitching and one leg was still furiously kicking at nothing. Drake obeyed Simon, stopping when he saw Lucille resting against the bed.

_You don’t know what you’re doing._

“ _Drake_ ,” Simon called, his back turned. “My  _knife_ , please.”

Drake wrapped his fingers around Lucille’s handle, lifting her and spinning. His barely registered what his own limbs were doing, but he knew that he was walking across the room, towards Simon, in a half-dazed state. Almost like one of the undead.

“Drake—”

Simon turned halfway before Lucille caught him in the jaw. Bone crunched and blood exploded from his mouth, several of his teeth bouncing across the carpet and disappearing beneath the couch. He fell, hard, the cushion slipping from Negan’s pale face.

The room fell silent.

Negan was the first to speak, coughing and sputtering. He sucked in massive gulps of air, fingers gripping for purchase against the floor. He noticed Drake standing over him with Lucille, and to Drake’s surprise, he  _laughed_.

“You fucking win. You win it all,” he wheezed. “Go ahead and fucking  _kill me_. Kill us both. You fucking win. Fucking do it —  _kill me_.”

“No.”

“Always so self fucking righteous. How about I fucking do it for you — bring me my gun—”

“ _No_ ,” Drake let Lucille drop to his side. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hearing Simon moan and groan, twitching as he pulled himself across the room and leaned against the wall, mouth leaking blood, jaw unhinged and hanging. “You’re not dying. That’s not what you need. That’s not what she would want.”

“How the fuck do you know what she would want?”

“I lived with her. For a long, long time,” Drake snapped, tossing Lucille against the bed. “You want to honor her? You want to honor what she did, you want to keep her legacy alive? You live. You  _survive_. Because if you don’t, it’ll be me, and Father. And you’re a better man than  _both_ of us.”

Wiping a trickle of blood from his nose, Negan sniffed and said, “Drake, I think you just became my new best friend. Now help me the fuck up.”

Drake did, offering Negan a hand and pulling the man to his feet. The entire time, Simon was giggling — his jaw slack and his eyes wide.

“My right hand fucking man,” Negan sighed. In a low voice, he said, “Drake, leave.”

“But—”

“You don’t want to fucking see this,” Negan retrieved Lucille from the bed. “Trust me.”

Drake backed away. The last thing he saw before closing the door behind him was Negan, approaching Simon, barbed bat in his hand. And for the first time in a while, Drake felt himself smiling.

No fear. Just strength.

* * *

* * *

_“Where is she?”_

_Negan stared up at Carl, and Carl stared back. There was genuine sorrow in the boys eyes._

_“She’s not here. We heard the explosion. I would tell you if she were here. She’d make me tell you.”_

_“Well, shit, kid. Your daddy ain’t here, but you are.”_

_“You have a chance to end things, right here, right now. This isn’t how you wanted it to happen. This isn’t how you wanted things to be.”_

_“There’s no going back for me, kid.”_

_“Then you’ll die, just like the rest of them.”_

_“They always fucking say that,” Negan murmured. “Bombs away!”_

Negan knelt over Simon’s corpse, fingers trembling. There was nothing left — just fragments of his skull, some teeth and hair, bits of his finely trimmed mustache. The rest of his body was stretched out, and there were dents in the wall from where Negan had swung Lucille  _through_  him.

Negan wasn’t focused on that. He was focused on the piece of paper that had fallen from Simon’s pocket, folded up and crumpled a bit from being tossed around. Flecks of blood adorned it’s surface as well, blurring some of the words — but not enough that they weren’t legible.

He recognized Desa’s handwriting immediately.

_Negan,_

_There’s no easy way for me to say this. It feels…against my nature to even write something like this, but I need to. For my own sake, and for yours. Because I won’t get to talk to you before I launch this ludicrous plan to drive the biters away. But I don’t plan on dying. Not in my mind, anyway. I will come back to you. Somehow. Some way. I have to. I love you too much to just…die. Even if I’m not me when I see you again. I’m not good at writing letters. I love you. Just know that. I love you._

_-Desa_


	32. Chapter 32

_“Negan.”_

Desa’s own words jolted her awake. She sputtered, feeling drool drip from her lips as she gasped, mouth open. She was vaguely aware of the soft fabric of a blanket draped over her, from head to toe, and the hard, curved surface beneath her back. She inhaled, fingers curling as she surveyed her surroundings.

She only saw darkness. The blanket blocked her view, and she could only moan and wriggle around in hopes that someone, anyone, would help her—

The sheet was lifted away, exposing Desa to the open air. She coughed, frantically glancing around. She finally recognized what she was lying in — a bathtub. Her wounds were bandaged, her face still swollen and raw. She was barely clothed, her shirt, pants, and shoes gone. The blanket was the only cover she had.

It was dark out. A few fires flickered here and there, but even then, Desa could barely make out the figures spread out across the open field.

“You’re awake.”

Desa turned her head, wincing at the pain it caused. There was a woman dangerously close, face illuminated by the fire. She was bald, older than Desa and rather strikingly pretty. She was sitting on a log and sharpening her knife without a care in the world that Desa was glaring at her.

“I’m awake,” Desa mumbled. “Who are you? Who the hell are you people?” she attempted to stand, but faltered and slipped back into the tub, snarling.

“I saved your life,” the woman said. “Fed you, kept you from bleeding out. And you repay me with hostility. A  _shame_.”

Desa’s eyes were wide, and she bared her teeth as the woman finally faced her, letting her knife rest against her thigh. In a low voice, she said, “My name is Alpha.” 

“Desa,” she narrowed her eyes, but said nothing of the woman’s odd name. “My name is Desa. Why am I in a bathtub?” 

“It’s easier to carry you this way. You’re too wounded to walk — you should thank me. Instead of leaving you out to die, I’ve taken you in.”

“Why—”

“I’ve seen what you can do. It would be…wasteful to let your talents die with you.”

“What if I wanted to die?”

“That’s not a choice you get to make. Not anymore. You are strong,” Alpha leaned forward. “Only the weak let themselves die.”

Desa met the woman’s gaze, glancing around at the small patches of campfires. Her eyes were beginning to adjust, and she could see people — some asleep on the grass, some still sitting and talking quietly — surrounding them. It was all one group, she realized.

Desa tried standing again. She wobbled, before rolling out of the bathtub and landing hard against the grass. The entire time, Alpha watched — methodically continuing to sharpen her nice as she watched Desa struggle, making no move to help.

_Get up. Get up._

Blades of grass tickled her bare skin. She crawled, unable to properly stand without her legs giving out. But she tried, pulling herself across the ground, only stopping when a pair of muddy boots landed a few inches before her face.

When she looked up, the tallest, bulkiest man she’d ever encountered was staring down at her. He had the face of a biter — no, the  _skins_ of a biter, strung across his face like some sort of crude mask. He was immovable — bigger than both Negan and Simon, and just as, if not more, intimidating.

He reached down and grasped Desa by the hair, nails biting into her skull as his long fingers tugged at the roots.

“ _Gentle_ with her, Beta.”

Desa was dragged like a rag down and tossed back into the bathtub. She gave up, slouching down, just those few simple actions leaving her winded.

_Weak._

“You’re going to stay a while,” Alpha said, montone. There was no remorse in her voice — she knew Desa was hopeless. Wounded. That she had no chance of getting away from the situation. She’d get halfway, and then she’d be a corpse.

Desa knew it, too.

So, in a low voice, she said, “I’ll stay.”

* * *

Desa could see her reflection in the lake. Bruises adorned her face, trailing down her neck to where the obvious marks of one extension cord pulled tight marked her skin.  The water rippled and she glanced up, peering across the still surface.

The rest of the group was still milling around their fires, just a short distance away. Alpha had given her permission to bathe, and wash away the dirt and grime from her body. Desa needed it.

She’d stripped, folding her clothes in a neat pile before kneeling at the shore, surveying her reflection. The bruises on her neck made it hurt to swallow and even speak. The knife wounds were sealed with makeshift stitches, slowly beginning to heal but still tender to the touch. She was walking — limping, really, but able to hold her own.

Slowly but surely, Desa waded into the cool, crisp and clear water, small stones at the bottom of the lake massaging the soles of her feet. She sank down, leaving everything below her neck submerged.

“These wounds — how did you receive them?”

Desa nearly jumped out of her skin, eyes snapping open. She’d been simply wading, submerged still, relaxing under the warmth of the sun. Had she not been nude, she would have drawn her knife — but in this situation, there was no knife to draw. And when she turned, she found herself facing Alpha. The woman’s clothes were folded next to Desa’s near the shore.

“You scared me.”

“I would hope,” Alpha said. Then, again, “Tell me how you received your wounds.”

“The man you saw me with — he did it.”

“And you killed him.”

“I did,” Desa murmured. Alpha drifted closer, raising a pale hand to touch Desa’s face. Her thumb traced Desa’s lower lip, ever so slightly digging her nail into the skin. “ _Please_ …don’t…”

“You’ve proven yourself,” Alpha’s foot brushed against Desa’s. Her fingers drifted from Desa’s face, down to her throat. “And because of this, I’ve provided you with a home. A place where you  _belong_.”

“I have a  _home_ to go back too.”

“An animal does not have a home. An animal wanders in search of it’s next meal, and embraces the elements. It’s how they’re strong,” Alpha gripped Desa by the chin, suddenly. “I see that in you. A will—a  _need_  to survive. It’s what brought you to me. I see it in you. You’ve let your basic instincts take over—”

“I am _not_  an animal—”

Alpha yanked her closer. Water sloshed and Desa felt the woman’s free hand drift across her thigh. In a low voice, she bared her teeth and snarled, “You are. And you  _know_  it.  _Tell me_. Tell me what you’ve done!”

Desa was shaking. Alpha’s dark eyes were captivating. She focused on a drop of water that fell from Alpha’s bald head, sliding down the side of her nose and adorning her full lips, catching the sun like a crystal bead.

_What have you done?_

“I killed my brother,” Desa said hollowly.

Alpha smiled.

“And?”

“I ate human flesh. I ripped a man’s eye out and ate it, just to make a point. And I love a man who beats people to death with a baseball bat. I’ve killed so many people—”

“And all so you’d _live_ ,” Alpha breathed. “ _That_  is why you’re here.  _That_  is who you are.”

“I have to go back—”

“Your mate — is he like you?”

“No. No, he’s nothing like me. He’s…better. He has a code—”

“Then he’ll  _die_. Eventually,” Alpha’s gaze was empty. “It’s what happens to everyone like him. They have a code, and then the code gets them killed. It’s inevitable.”


	33. Chapter 33

That night, just like the several other nights prior, Desa slept in a secluded area behind a cluster of bushes. Alpha and her people didn’t particularly “carry” supplies — they hunted for food when needed, and slept on blankets. Desa couldn’t complain about the lifestyle — she didn’t want to. She’d been through enough to recognize when she got lucky.

A few fires flickered, and wind ruffled the trees around them. Guards patrolled the perimeter of their makeshift camp, guiding away any approaching biters. It was the first Desa was able to have a real, true, undisturbed sleep. But even though her eyes were heavy, she found herself unable to doze off. Instead she remained awake, eyes open. The slight crunch of leaves came from behind her, but she ignored it. She began to play with a blade of grass, mind drifting back to her time with Negan.

It was like an icy blade through her heart. She’d been weak. She’d wanted to die — she’d expected to die. The though of facing him again, after all that, made her nauseous.

_You promised him you’d come back._

_Maybe it would be better, though, if you didn’t._

She was alive, but she didn’t want to be.

Another crunch, this time the sound clearly recognizable as footsteps. Multiple pairs, coming just beyond the bushes. Desa froze, not daring to move a muscle. It wasn’t until the noise stopped that she slowly rolled over, head pointed to towards the source of the sound.

Two Whisperers, face clad in the skins of the undead, peered at Desa. She didn’t miss the knives they both held, unsheathed and glistening in the moonlight. The sheer surprise left Desa’s stunned, but she snapped back into reality the moment they lunged.

All she saw was the blade. Two of them, arcing towards her. Her hand fumbled with the gun holster at her hip before remembering that it, along with her knife, had been taken.

She cursed, stumbling back as the blade nearly caught her in the neck. She saw her second attacker come in from the side, and without thinking the grabbed her blanket off the ground and tossed it at his face. The action gave her a few precious seconds to retaliate, and without thinking, she bit down hard against her first attackers forearm, holding on tight as the limb spasmed and the knife dropped from his fingers. She caught it before it could hit the ground, instinctively driving the blade into the Whisperer’s throat.

He sputtered and Desa yanked the knife free. The other Whisperer swung, but Desa ducked and drove the knife into his crotch, all the way to the hilt. He, too, stumbled before collapsing in pain.

His groans stopped when Desa ended him with a blade to the forehead. The other had bled out, eyes twitching and roaming. Desa offered him the same treatment as his companion, and she was left kneeling, panting and covered in blood.

Then she drove the knife into the grass, shakily getting to her feet as Alpha, head held high, approached, Beta on her heels.

Desa  _glared._

“ _You_  are one of  _us_ ,” Alpha crowed. She pointed to the corpses, then at Desa. “Embrace it.”

“Is this how I had to prove myself to you?” Desa  growled. “By killing?”

“By surviving. I sent them,” Alpha said. “I gave them a task and they failed. You didn’t—”

“You sent them to kill me?” Desa breathed.

“I had faith in you,” Alpha explained casually. ”And none in them. You did me a favor. They would have died, regardless.”

“Glad I could help,” Desa drawled. Her tone must have irritated Beta, for he stepped forward. As usual, he dwarfed Desa without even trying.

“If you wish to measure her  _true_  strength, let me take her,” Beta said, drawing his long, curved knife. “It would be my pleasure.”

Desa squared up her shoulders, and Beta did the same. Her eyes darted to the knife handle sticking from the ground, and she calculated how much time she might have if Beta decided to strike—

“No,” Alpha said. “You’ll have your moment, Beta. For now, what she’s provided will be sufficient enough.”

Beta looked visibly disappointed, but backed off. He nodded, returning to his place on Alpha’s right side, where he continued to size Desa up and down.

“Go back to sleep,” Alpha said softly. “You’ve earned your rest. We move tomorrow morning.”

Desa didn’t sleep. She couldn’t. There was blood on her clothes, and she could smell it. It assaulted her senses and left her thrashing, tossing and turning. Eventually she stilled, eyes open, gazing across the landscape.

Across the way she saw Beta — it had to be him. No one else was as tall as he — and in his, he held his curved knife with a white-knuckled grip. His eyes were on Desa, and he peered from beneath his mask.

Desa did the only thing she could — she turned away.

She had to run.

Putting immense amounts of pressure on her injured leg still agitated her, but she could jog, though she had no idea for how long. If she ran right away, they were sure to catch her.

So, Desa waited.

She joined one of the hunting groups, and was given a bow — she’d only shot for shits and giggles before, never having hit an actual target. But she wasn’t going to mention that — before she and two others headed away from the main camp, in search of any deer or rabbits. Desa was the only one not clad in a suit of biter skin, but just her proximity to the two Whisperer’s allowed her to travel past biters without incident.

They came across a clearing, and Desa followed close behind her two companions. They spoke in hushed tone, disregarding Desa and only speaking to her when they deemed necessary.

“The tracks end here. They have to be close.”

“Smells like deer shit.”

“That’s because we’re following deer, idiot,” the Whisperer glanced over his shoulder at Desa, nodding towards her bow. “Don’t screw up and accidentally shoot me with that thing.”

“I won’t.”

Desa had six crudely carved wooden arrows — just sticks, sharped and reinforced with wire. But they were enough, and as the two Whisperer’s crept ahead, Desa readied herself with an arrow in hand.

“Get up here—”

The Whisperer gurgled, the sharp end of the arrow jutting from beneath his chin and through his open mouth. Desa pulled the arrow free, its surface slippery with blood. As the Whisperer toppled she turned, and with just as much ferocity, jabbed the arrow into the other Whisperer’s throat.

Desa stepped back and dropped her weapon. Her right hand was crimson, drenched in red. She blinked, staring down at the two corpses. Something buzzed in her ear, and she blinked once more.

_She’d killed before. Why was this different?_

_Why was she silent, still?_

Desa rubbed her eyes, inhaling loudly. Her hands moved, as if on their own accord. She stripped one of the Whisperer’s of his skins and mask, quickly donning them instead. She counted her arrows, ignoring the musky, coppery smell from the withered biter face that covered her own. She wet her lips before heading back.

That nagging voice in the back of her mind was screaming at her, begging.

_Run._

_Run._

_Get out!_

But she ignored it and went back. She entered the camp unchecked,  nodding at one of the guards. The Whisperer’s were settling down, unpacking their things, exhausted from a long day of traveling. None of them regarded Desa, despite the bow strapped to her back and the arrows in her belt. She could see Alpha, dozing.

Desa approached, gripping one of the arrows. Her course was set, and she could practically see the blood pumping behind the skin of Alpha’s neck.

Silently, Desa straddled the woman, raising the arrow, intending to bring it down upon her throat in full force.

Alpha’s eyes opened. Her hand curled around Desa’s wrist, stopping the arrow from piercing her neck. She didn’t scream, didn’t alert Beta, who slept off to the side. Instead she was smiling.

“You are _magnificent_.”

Desa wasn’t aware, but she was shaking, eyes wild, hair disheveled and her hands and face covered in blood that was not her own.

Like an animal.

Alpha squeezed, nails piercing Desa’s skin. She hissed, caught in a vice grip as Alpha yanked her closer. Now Desa was struggling, still staying silent but trying to pull away. Alpha wasn’t letting her budge.

“But you were never meant to be the lead. You hesitated,” Alpha tilted her head to the side. She regarded Desa curiously, saying, “Why?”

Beta stirred. Desa’s head whipped to the side, and she broke free from Alpha’s hold. She fell back, and Alpha chuckled.

“This world is meant for people like you and me. You belong here, with us. Don’t make the mistake of going back to where you were,  _who_  you were before.”

Beta’s eyes opened, and he sat up. Alpha’s outstretched hand kept him from leaping on Desa, who was already scrambling away.

“Don’t run from this,” Alpha called. Desa ignored the aches and pains and limps, forcing herself to sprint. The camp was awake, now, as Beta began barking orders. She didn’t look behind her, diving into the woods.

_Stupid stupid stupid._

_What is wrong with you?_

_Stupid!_

Feet thundered through the leaves behind her, and she heard several shouts. The darkness helped conceal her, but not enough. A stroke of luck saved her —  _painful_  luck — when she found herself tumbling head over heels down a slope peppered with vines, leaves, and branches.

When she landed, she was out of breath. Her wounds stung and the fall certainly hadn’t helped. Now a part of the underbrush, she stayed still and silent as the Whisperer’s darted around.

The voices became distant with each passing moment. Desa dared to move, picking herself from the pile of shrubs and limping away from the sound. She ripped away the mask she wore, huffing as she saw, through a sliver of open air among the tightly packed trees, the road.

She had no idea where she was — a street sign confirmed that she was, to her horror, closer to the Estate than anywhere else. The Whisperer’s strayed from roads, so it was the first time in a while that she could get a grip on her bearings.

They were heading towards Alexandria. Or the Hilltop. Or both. Or, at least, circling the perimeter of the area. Desa had no idea why — certainly Alpha knew the area?

Desa cursed. She shed the rest of the skins, discarding her bow onto the asphalt. She kept her arrows, deciding to follow the road towards the Estate. While it had been razed to the ground, the sewer was still active and, hopefully, empty.

She began walking, ignoring the surge of pain as she moved. The moon and the stars were her only light source, and she ignored whatever biters approached — deciding not to waste her arrows and just jog away.

The Estate was empty, the massive mansion a hulking, mutilated silhouette in the sky. Ashes littered the grass, covering it like a blanket. The fence was still intact, the main wrought iron gate open and swinging on its hinges.

The first thing that greeted Desa when she walked through was Jack’s grave.

It hadn’t been destroyed. The cluster of rocks indicating the site had been left untouched, along with the little cross made out of wood.

With a sign, Desa sat. The grass was soft beneath her, and she took a moment to rest. There were no biters, and the place was clear.

So she thought.

She was aware of a presence behind her. The click of a gun confirmed her suspicions, and when she turned, it was the  _who_  that shocked her. A familiar face, and he had a gun aimed at her head.

_“Dwight?”_


	34. Chapter 34

“Get up.”

Desa didn’t budge. She raised her eyebrows, turning her body to face Dwight. He was unwavering, nose wrinkles, lips curved back over his teeth. The fact that half of his face had been brutally burned made the expression all the more grotesque.

“Did Negan send you—”

“No,” Dwight answered curtly. “You’ve missed…a  _lot_.”

“My allegiance hasn’t changed, Dwight. You know that—”

“ _Mine_ has,” Dwight smirked. His voice was smoother, calmer. Again, he said, “Get. Up.”

Desa rolled her eyes, but obeyed. Dwight was keeping at a safe distance, keeping his gun aimed. It looked as if he had no intentions of putting it down.

_Smart._

Desa glared. Dwight said slowly, “Turn around and start walking.”

“Is Negan okay? Is he alive?” Desa choked, eyes swelling with tears — not out of fear of anger, but out of worry. Dwight’s expression didn’t change, and she prayed he’d give her the answer. Or an answer. Dead or alive, she had to  _know._

“He’s alive,” Dwight said softly.

Desa let out a sigh, wiping away a tear. Content, though no less enraged by Dwight’s betrayal, she turned around, and began to walk.

* * *

Alexandria had been partially destroyed, Desa learned. The remainder of Rick’s people were residing at the Hilltop. The trek there concluded with Desa being greeted, and then forcefully tied up and tossed into one of the trailer. There she waited, until the doors opened and those who would ultimately decide her fate, entered.

Rick, and a woman Desa didn’t recognize — the bulge in her belly indicated that she was pregnant — stood before her. She assumed this was the Hilltop’s new leader, Maggie. The widow. Another woman entered, and Desa had seen her before — Michonne, she remembered.

Desa hadn’t the energy to plea. She’d made it clear that her wounds were sapping the energy from her. She hadn’t expected their sympathy, nor had she wanted it. Yet, Rick was the first to address it.

“We’ll have our doctor come and look at you,” Rick said. “That’s the only luxury you’ll be getting from us.”

“You gave Father more,” Desa said. She didn’t care if her words sounded petty. When Rick’s brow furrowed in confusion, she drawled, “Father. The man  _you_ took in. The man I killed.”

“Adam is dead?” Michonne breathed.

_“Adam!”_  Desa barked, lurching forward as she laughed. “He made me call him ‘Father’. He made us all call him ‘Father’. When he held us down and raped us, he made us call him ‘Father,’” she giggled, staring at Rick through hooded eyes. 

“I don’t expect you to not be ignorant. Whatever stories about me that he told you, they were all true. But so are mine.”

“He told us that you were like Negan,” Maggie said tersely.

“I am,” Desa snorted. “I don’t want anything you’re going to give me. I just want to leave. I don’t want any more death. If I stay here, death will happen. People will die.”

“You aren’t leaving,” Rick said. “There are a lot of people, other than us, that want to kill you. I’m having trouble not putting a bullet between your eyes right now. But we’re beyond that. And if you truly want to end all of this, you’ll  _work_ with us—”

“Like Dwight?”

“Like Dwight. Yes,” Rick said. “I’m giving you a choice, right here, right now. If you don’t make the  _right_  choice—”

“You’ll kill me?” Desa bared her teeth. “It won’t stop what’s coming.”

“What’s coming?” Maggie said lowly.

“People dressed like the dead. They’re after me. They’ll find me, and if they do, they’ll find you,” Desa leaned forward. Softly and slowly, not taking her gaze off Rick, she said, “Judith and Carl will  _not_ be safe. I’m only telling you this for them. I want them to survive.”

“Walker skins?” Michonne breathed.

“Yeah. They’re camped out near a silo. You know, the big one you can see on the horizon sometimes?”

Rick shot Michonne a glance, before closing his eyes as he contemplated over his next move. Desa half expected him to draw his colt and blow her head apart, but he didn’t. He pinched the bridge of his nose and said, “Why are these people after you? What do they want?”

“They want me. But they won’t stop at me.”

“Then how do we stop them?” Maggie asked.

Desa rolled her shoulders, adjusting her position. With a nonchalant shrug that surprised even her, she said, “You can’t.”

* * *

Maggie and the Hilltop’s doctor, Harlan Carson, entered the trailer during the afternoon. The pregnant woman stood in the corner, gun drawn, while Carson hesitantly approached her, and the moment his hand touched her skin, he leaped back, expecting an attack. It didn’t come. Desa complied, sitting against the wall and staring at Maggie, unmoving, as Carson got to work removing and re-dressing her crude bandages.

“How far along are you?”

“Five months,” Maggie replied tersely. When Desa smiled, she made a noise of disgust. “Not sure why you’d be interested.”

“I like kids.”

“Really?” Maggie murmured. Unabashedly, she asked, “Did you have any children of your own?”

“No.”

“Family?”

“Dead,” Desa replied. “Except for Negan.”

Maggie fists clenched, and she visibly tensed, a muscle in her jaw twitching as she regarded Desa with a cross between contempt, and pity. In a hoarse voice, she asked, “Were you there that night?”

“The night he murdered your husband?”

Carson froze for a split second, shaking his head before dousing Desa’s wounded thigh in alcohol. She hissed at the pain, resting the back of her head against the wall as he began preparing the stitches.

“Yeah,” Maggie hissed. “ _That_ night.”

“I wasn’t there. Shame that I wasn’t.”

Maggie glanced down. “Would you have stopped him?”

“No. There are much worse things that could have happened to your husband,” Desa murmured. “Believe me.”

Maggie’s grip on her gun tightened, but she didn’t move. Carson was rushing, patching Desa up and springing back when he was finished. He left before Desa could even thank him, giving Maggie enough room to cock her gun and approach Desa, rage boiling behind her eyes.

The trigger wasn’t pulled. Maggie’s expression changed, and she lowered her arm. It was as if the fire had been snuffed out, and she holstered her weapon before murmuring, “It’s not worth it. You’re nothing but an animal.”

Then she was gone, shutting the door and sending the room into darkness.

 

 


	35. Chapter 35

“Wake up.”

Someone was shaking her. A male voice hissed in her ear — Desa’s eyes fluttered, and she squinted as the blurry figure before her started to become clearer and clearer.

“Get up.”

It was Carl.

She could see the outline of his hat in the darkness, and the white of his eye and his bandage. The trailer was dead silent, save for their breathing. Desa was frozen, more out of shock than anything else.

Carl didn’t seem worried. A backpack was slung across his shoulder, and she could see that he was dressed, gun and all.

“What the hell?”

“I’ll explain after you get up. We don’t have much time,” Carl rose, gesturing for Desa to follow. She moved her hands — she moved them. They were no longer bound, the rope having been sliced. It finally clicked that Carl was helping her escape. Leave.  _Carl._

“Why are you doing this?”

“Do you want me to leave you here?” Carl replied, exasperated. “ _C’mon_.”

So, Desa followed. They weaved through the line of trailer, ducking behind the main building before stopping by the high, wooden fence. Carl tossed Desa his backpack before pushing one of the beams to the side, creating a crawlspace just wide enough that someone as small as small and slender as Carl could squeeze through. Desa, being the same build and height as the boy, had no trouble following. They pushed the beam back into place, before heading into the woods.

Now, Desa could speak at a normal volume.

She stopped. Carl was a few steps ahead of her, and he turned, eyebrows raised.

“What are you doing, Carl?”

“Helping you.”

“Go back,” Desa said. “I can make it on my own. You don’t need to be out here.”

Carl trudged forward, taking his backpack from Desa. In a low voice, he said, “I’m taking you to Negan. I’m ending this stupid fight once and for all, before more of my people  _die_. And  _you’re_  going to convince Negan to stand down, and let us live in peace. You’ll do that, because that’s what you really want.”

“You don’t know what I want.”

“I know that you don’t want me or Judith to die. I know that. If this war continues, it could happen. It  _will_  happen,” Carl stressed. He glanced around, before sighing and gesturing again for Desa to follow. “Just…c’mon. We’re wasting time.”

“I guess this is your show, kid.”

“Damn right it is.”

* * *

It wasn’t until the Sanctuary was in sight that Desa asked, “Did you bring a walkie?”

“Yeah,” Carl began rummaging through his backpack, pulling out a heavyset radio. She extended an arm, stopping Carl in his tracks. Through a gap in the trees, she could see the Sanctuary fence. Carl asked, “What are you doing?”

“I’m not walking in there with you,” Desa said. “They’ll come to me, and before they get here, I want you  _gone_. I’m not taking the risk of you getting hurt or captured. I’ll tell them that you helped me escape, and that’s it.”

“And you’ll talk with Negan about ending all of this?”

“I will,” Desa said, smiling. She raised the radio to her lips, thumb on the button. attic sounded, and she quickly spoke into the mic. “Is anyone here?”

Nothing.

Then, again, “Is anyone at the Sanctuary?”

“ _Here_ ,” Regina’s voice, loud and clear, echoed back. Desa found herself sighing.

“It’s Desa.”

Silence. Then, Regina’s laugh filled Desa’s ears. The sound was joyous, and between chuckles Regina cried, “Well  _I’ll be damned_. You survived! Good to have you back!”

“Is everyone okay? Simon, Negan, Drake…”

Static. Regina’s words were slow, pain laced beneath them. “No,” she said. “Not everyone is okay, which is why you need to waltz your ass back in here, now—”

Carl cried out. Desa turned just in time to see a man with the face of a biter fling a bag over the boys head, knocking his legs out from under him. The action was so fast, and Desa had no time to react before she, too, suffered the same fate.

The walkie dropped from her hands. Regina was calling her, yelling, words incomprehensible and muffled. The cloth bag was pulled tighter, and despite Desa’s struggling, she was overpowered and forced to her knees. Through a small split in the fabric she could see the Sanctuary, so close, yet now so far.

_I almost made it._

Then she and Carl were dragged away.

* * *

“She’s alive. I spoke to her,” Regina hurried after Negan. “Something happened — the feed cut out. I heard yelling.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know—”

“Did she say where the fuck she was? West side or south side of the Sanctuary?” Negan pinched the bridge of his nose, the agitation in his voice masking his beating heart. Had he not cared for Regina, he would have strangled the woman for her brevity.

“She’s just…gone.”

In a bout of rage, Negan slammed Lucille’s end against the wall, crushing the plaster. Regina didn’t flinch — she waited, head ducked until Negan came down from his high and snarled, “Get a group together. We’re fucking searching the area—”

“It could have been Rick and his people,” Regina said. “They’d go after her.”

“If that’s the case, then Rick is fucking stupider than I thought. We torched his fucking place, and he keeps fighting back,” Negan snarled. “That fucker is going to learn.”

_I’ll kill him._

Drake met him outside, a gun slung over his shoulder. He seemed giddy, long hair tied back away from his face. He glanced at Negan, smiling. “Told she was alive.”

Negan rolled his eyes and playfully punched Drake in the shoulder. Despite the situation, despite the numbness in Negan’s soul, he was…relieved. Happy. He didn’t know. The news was overwhelming him. He wondered if Drake was in the same boat.

“Did you and Desa ever have a fucking…thing? Did you fuck, I guess is what I mean.”

“N-no,” Drake stammered, face flushing a bright red. “We never had sex. She isn’t my type, to be honest. I love her like a sister. She’s family. That’s all, though. Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity.”

“Desa never had anyone at the Estate. None of us did — unless you were a couple before you got there. She never struck me as the type to want to settle down.”

“I got lucky, I guess,” Negan rolled his shoulders. He eyes scanned the horizon, and he paused. A caravan of trucks were approaching, speeding down the road, right towards the gates. Negan promptly whistled to the guards, and they sprang into action, getting into position with their guns ready.

He and Drake descended from the balcony, meeting Laura and Regina below. They drew their weapons as the caravan stopped, and Negan immediately recognized the familiar, crudely armored vehicles.

_Rick._

Negan raised a hand, signaling his guards to hold. He allowed Rick to walk up to the gate, his own people emerging from their cars, ready.

“I’m not looking for a fight,” Rick called. “Not yet, at least. I’m looking for my son.”

Negan raised his eyebrows. Beside him, Drake gulped nervously before shrugging and calling out, “He’s not here.”

Rick ignored him. His eyes were on Negan, his stare unwavering. Negan approached, stopping only a few feet from where Rick stood. Iron bars separated them, but he knew that any one of Rick’s people had a clear shot at him.

However, it went both ways.

“I have nothing but respect for your son. I have no fucking reason to take him as a hostage,” Negan sneered. “Likewise, I could ask you the same goddamn question about a particular someone. Your son said that she wasn’t with your people, but I don’t believe that shit. Not anymore. Not when she waltzed right up to my fucking gate before someone  _snatched_  her.”

Rick fell silent. Negan was going to take that as a personal victory, but Rick’s expression changed. Wide-eyed shock and a bit of horror washed over the man’s face. Usually Negan would bask in Grimes’ uneasiness, but this time, it made him squirm.

“You about to shit your fucking pants, Rick? The fuck kind of look is that—”

“We had her. Desa. But she escaped. Carl must have helped her,” Rick looked back up. “Now they’re both gone.”

“And?”

“She said something about…people who were after her. People who wear the skins of walkers. Do you know about that?”

“Considering that I’ve been at war with y _our_  fucking people, I haven’t really had time to deal with ‘people wearing biter skins’ or whatever the fuck. So no, I  _don’t_  know about that shit. You think those people got her? Is that what you’re suggesting?”

“And Carl,” Rick straightened up, sighing. He glanced up at the guards, eyes traveling across the expanse of the Sanctuary.

“Yeah, Rick. Take a good fucking look at what your people did. It’s going to take us a whole fucking lot to fix all the shit you fucked up,” Negan drawled. “I torched your place, so I guess we’re fucking even.”

“No,” Rick snarled. He composed himself, before saying, “You have resources. My people have resources. We can find them both, together.”

“I don’t know where the _fuck_  we’re going to start. I don’t want you anywhere near my people. It will be a selective alliance,” Negan said harshly. “I’m only doing this to fucking find Desa.”

“And I’m only offering because I want to find Carl.”

“If she’s with him, he’s in good hands,” Negan rolled his eyes, motioning for his guards to open the gate. “She’s fucking fond of him. And his sister.”

Rick stepped forward, and Negan stopped the cars from following. He added, “We’ll talk in the courtyard. Out here. Neutral fucking ground — you can bring two more in, the rest stay out and enjoy the fucking view. I don’t want you inside with my people. Agreed?”

“I can work with that.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

 

 


	36. Chapter 36

“Adam — Father —  never made it back,” Rick leaned against the interior of the fence. The samurai — Michonne, or whatever her name was, sat on a box of crates.

“I don’t give a shit,” Negan mumbled.

“Desa told us who he was. What he did,” Michonne added.

“You must feel pretty fucking stupid.”

“We don’t.”

“How’s the priest? He helped my ass escape while we were trapped by biters. He slipped away before I could thank him. Rude fucker.”

Rick and Michonne didn’t reply. They just glared for a moment, before Michonne spoke in a hushed tone and said, “He’s fine.”

“So many  _fucking_  questions,” Negan hissed, clenching his fists and grinning. He licked his lips, looking back and forth from Rick, to Michonne. He was aware that both his people, and Rick’s people were watching, ready to start exchanging bullets at the faintest hint of confrontation. He chose his words carefully. “Dwight  _still_ hasn’t come back. I wonder where he is?”

Negan already knew. That numb part of him didn’t care — Laura’s words had rung hollow, for she’d nearly been on the receiving end of a bullet, fired by Dwight, back at Alexandria. Dwight was replaceable, but he’d caused enough damage already.

“He should be the least of your concerns,” Rick said. He perked up, peering over Negan’s shoulder, which prompted Negan to turn. Daryl had returned, Drake at his side.

“Find anything?”

“There was definitely a struggle. They fought hard, tried to escape,” Daryl replied. “Finding them is going to be a load of trouble. We can’t track nothin’. If they’re dressed in walker skins, they’ll blend right in.”

“Desa said something about a silo,” Rick replied. “She said that the last time she was with them, that’s where they set up camp.”

“Are you  _sure_?” Negan stressed.

“They’ll come, no matter what. Even if they have her,” Michonne said solemnly. She met Negan’s gaze for a second, pursing her lips. “Their goal isn’t her, it’s us. All we have to do is be patient. Wait.”

“Do nothing?” Negan raised his eyebrows. “ _Fuck_  no—”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Michonne replied acidly. “We send the team to scout the silo. Take this time to plot our next move. They aren’t going anywhere.”

“Fuck,” Negan murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Fucking  _fine_. If they come to fucking negotiate, we’ll negotiate. Goddamn. All I want is for Desa to be fucking safe.”

_All they want is for Carl to be safe._

“We need to draw up fucking…battle plans or whatever. Get whatever shit we need ready. The minute it happens, we need to have everything in order,” Negan said. “We can do that? Good shit. I guess we’re officially temporary allies then, Grimes. Can’t wait to work with you.”

* * *

Desa opened her eyes and inhaled grass.

She sputtered, coughed, before lifting her head. She was bound and gagged. The space around her looks familiar — it was the camp. The Whisperer’s camp from before. The group hadn’t moved, and Desa couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. There was a chance. A chance that Rick and his people would find her.

They’d come, she knew, for —

Someone next to her groaned. It was Carl, bound and gagged as well. Almost instinctively, she scooted closer.

Boots appeared before her. She pushed herself into a sitting position, looking up and meeting Beta’s steely gaze. As always, most of his facial features were obscured by his mask. He crouched, quickly yanking the gag from Desa’s mouth before doing the same to Carl.

“Pray that she’ll go easy on you.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Desa spat. Beta’s jaw tensed, but he did not strike her. He just stood back and allowed Alpha to approach. The bald woman’s eyebrows were furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. She regarded Desa with the same attitude that a teacher would have when scolding a student.

“I usually don’t invest in people like you. But I feel like I have no choice,” Alpha said. “You’re strong enough to be one of us. You’re  _meant_ to be one of us. Deep down, you know it to be true.”

“I’m _not_  one of you. I  _never_ will be,” Desa growled. “I have a home. A  _family_ —”

“And you will outlive them,” Alpha stressed. “They’ll die because they are  _weak_. It’s how the world works. We inherit what’s left of this world by becoming a part of it.”

“No,” Desa said. “ _No_.”

Alpha made a slight gesture with her hand. Two Whisperer’s stomped past her, yanking Carl from the ground. Immediately Desa began to struggle, attempting to rise to her feet. Beta’s strong hand pushed her back down as Alpha stared, unwavering.

They began beating Carl. The two Whisperer’s landed kicks to the boy’s chest and stomach and back. Desa writhed, shouting out offenses before begging.

_“Stop! Stop it!”_

Alpha raised a hand. Carl lay in the fetal position, eyes squeezed shut.

“You have a choice,” Alpha said. “I’ll have the boy killed right here.”

“Don’t hurt him. Please,” Desa begged. Carl, nose bloody, looked on in horror as Desa said, “If I say yes, you’ll leave him be?” 

“I give you my word. But he will come with us. Who knows, he might belong here,” Alpha smirked. She raised her eyebrows as if awaiting Desa to verbalize what she wanted.

“I’ll join you. I accept.”

* * *

“They’re camped by the silo, just like Desa said. But it looks like they’re were gathering things,” Drake’s voice crackled. “Getting ready to move, maybe?”

“They’re nomads. Of course they’re getting ready to fucking move,” Negan snapped back. “We have to move with them. Radio Rick and tell him that we need to go, now!”

It didn’t take Negan long to round up everyone. Laura and Arat organized the short caravan of trucks while Regina spoke with Rick over the radio. The tension mounted the moment they pulled out of the Sanctuary, and toward’s the rendezvous point he and Rick had agreed on.

 _Halfway._  Negan sat in the passengers seat while Regina drove. The moment he spotted Rick’s people he signaled the caravan to stop. A moment later, Drake and Gavin came stumbling out of the woods, clearly shaken up a bit. Drake had blood splattered across his shirt, and before Negan could ask, he said, “We had to deal with some biters.”

“Shit, you scared me for a second,” Negan chuckled and patted Drake on the shoulder. The man just shrugged, pushing a strand of hair away from his eyes. Rick approached, an air of caution around him.

“How close are we?”

“That silo is just off the main road. There’s a dirt path, and in the field is their camp.”

“Did you see Carl?”

“No,” Drake answered, eyes flickering towards Negan. Then he looked back at Rick and added, “We just saw the perimeter guards.”

“How many?” Negan inquired.

“From our position, about four. If you have snipers…you might be able to take them out from afar, especially once the sun sets.” 

“Maybe we could stab them in their sleep?” Negan drawled, smirking at how Rick shifted uncomfortably. “Bet nobody has ever done _that_  shit before.”

Rick ignored him. Instead, he rolled his shoulders and said, “We stick to the plan. Create a diversion, pretend to negotiate, then strike. Maybe Desa was lying. Maybe these people can be reasoned with.”

“Doubt it,” Drake mumbled, beating Negan to his own words.

The group combined consisted of over a dozen cars, and over a dozen armed Saviors and Alexandrian’s. The tense air between the two groups was palpable, but Negan knew that Rick’s people would die for their leader.

So would his.

“You ready, Drake?” Negan quipped.

“Not really.”

“Fair enough. Let’s get this shit over with.”


	37. Chapter 37

“We start moving when the sun sets,” Alpha said. She glanced back down at Carl, then Desa. “We take these two with us.”

“We’re taking the bus, correct?”

“The herd is too far out. No amount of noise will be able to redirect them from our position,” Alpha explained. “The girl is with us, now. We’ll execute the boy if he causes too much trouble. Until then, he is an investment with potential.”

Carl was groaning, holding his ribcage. Dried blood caked his lips and nose. Desa was hovering over the boy, shielding him with her own body as Beta and Alpha surveyed them as if they were prey.

“Load them up.”

Desa and Carl were dragged. The bus was parked by the tree line, its colors old and worn down. The yellow had been sprayed with graffiti, the windows smashed in. One of the Whisperer’s remained up front, while the other two ushered Carl and Desa to their seats.

A shout.

Desa and Carl’s head whipped to the side. They craned their necks, trying to see where the sound had come from.

“That’s my dad!” Carl hissed. One of the Whisperer’s stepped closer, but that didn’t deter Carl from rising to his feet so he could get a better look.

He wasn’t wrong. Rick was standing before Alpha and Beta, an almost casual tilt to his hips. Desa’s eyes narrowed — there was no way he’d come alone. Then again, the man was bold, and stubborn as a mule. He was clearly outnumbered, and the Whisperer’s behind Beta and Alpha had perked up, hands on their weapons.

_It had to be a trap._

“Sit down,” one of the Whisperer’s planted a firm hand on Carl’s shoulder, pushing the boy back into the seat.

When Desa turned back to look out the window, something had gone wrong. Whether it was intentional or not, Rick was diving to the ground as bullets began to fly, all coming from the direction of the trees. Desa ducked, before lifting her head to peer out once more.

Alpha and Beta were running. And then, appearing behind Rick, was the one person she’d been longing to see.

“ _Negan_!” Desa screamed as loud as she could. His head whipped to the side and he shouted something. Again, Desa yelled, “ _Ne_ —”

She was cut off mid word. One of the Whisperer’s backhanded her, but she snapped forward and clamped down, hard, upon his exposed wrist. Her teeth pierced the skin and he screamed, just as Alpha and Beta burst onto the bus.

 _“Drive!”_ Alpha snarled.

Desa released the Whisperer. The bus was assaulted with bullets, and she promptly fell to the floor. Carl did the same. It was too late, and the vehicle was bouncing across the field and towards the main road.

“Shit,” Desa murmured, scrambling to look back out the window. Rick and his people were in pursuit, tearing onto the asphalt in their own vehicles. Not taking her eyes off the road, she shouted to Alpha and Beta, “Nice job choosing a bus! These things are slow as shit!”

The Whisperer she’d bitted yanked her by the hair, into the aisle, and she screamed. Carl lunged but was held back. Beta, the top of his head fully touching the ceiling, began walking over with a scowl on his face.

He drew his knife.

“ _Easy_ , Beta,” Alpha said from the front.

Before he could do, well, whatever it was he was going to do, the bus rattled, the impact knocking almost everyone to the floor. An engine revving sounded from outside, and Desa dared a peek outside — a jeep was pushing against the side of the bus, driven by Michonne and a dark-haired girl Desa didn’t recognize.

“Desa!” Carl warned. When she looked up, Beta had regained his footing and was bringing his curved knife down towards her face.

Desa brought her arms up to meet him halfway. The blade pierced her wrists, just a bit, while the rest sliced clean through the rope holding her hands together. She retaliated immediately, aiming for the first part of Beta that she saw — his crotch.

Beta howled. A second of celebration, and then Desa was tackled, cheek connecting brutally hard with the window of the bus. The entire vehicle shifted to the side, driving Michonne and the dark-haired woman off the road and into a ditch.

Gunfire shattered the glass of the back emergency exit. In her peripheral, Desa saw Alpha’s shoulder spewing blood. The Whisperer holding her dropped, a clean hole blown through the side of his head. She immediately began digging through the corpse of the Whisperer, yanking his knife from his belt.

Before Beta could intervene, she began cutting Carl’s bonds. Alpha, holding her wounded shoulder, snarled, “They’re up on top!”

 Footsteps pounded from the roof of the bus, and Beta have a roar of frustration. The moment the emergency hatch began to shake, he charged, giving Carl and Desa no time to brace themselves. He batted Carl to the side as if he weighed nothing, seizing Desa by her shirt.

She screamed.

The emergency hatch opened. Negan and Regina dropped to the floor. A Whisperer lunged and Regina blew a hole through his skull, before turning her gun on Alpha.

Beta saw, and he reacted by tossing Desa through the air. She slammed, hard, into Regina, both women crashing to the ground like a pair of bowling pins. Air left Desa’s lung like a vacuum, and she gasped. Her ears rang and she scrunched up her face, inhaling through her nose. Her entire body hurt. So, so  _terribly_  bad.

Alpha, the driver, and Beta were the only ones left. She shakily looked over her shoulder and saw Beta advancing on Carl and Negan, dwarfing both with ease. An intimidated look flashed across Negan’s face, and he gripped Lucille tightly.

Regina, dazed from the fall, scrambled to her feet, and to Desa’s horror, Alpha sprung into the isle.

It was over in a second.

Alpha’s knife pierced the side of Regina’s neck, coming out the other end. Blood gushed from the wound and she gurgled, reaching out to grip Alpha’s shoulder. It did nothing, and her knees buckled. Desa turned away in horror, sparing a glance behind her. Beta was backing Negan and Carl towards the emergency exit, footsteps unwavering. He would trap them, and kill them. 

So Desa, tearing her eyes away from Regina’s corpse, stood and ran. She threw her full weight against Beta, clinging to his back and doing the only thing she could think of doing — she bit into an exposed sliver of flesh just past his shoulder.

He bellowed, and she saw Negan and Carl scramble towards the emergency hatch. Using the seats as support, Carl went first, lifting himself onto the bus’ roof. The entire time, Desa clung to Beta’s back. She only released him when she felt sinewy flesh come free, her hold on his loosening as blood flooded the back of her throat, making her gag. Her rear hit the floor and she spat out the chunk of meat.

Alpha, wounded, slumped against the wall with a glare on her face. Beta was still bellowing, holding his own wound. Negan took advantage of the opportunity, helping Desa to her feet.

They clambered through the emergency exit, Carl and Desa hauling Negan up with them. Lying flat on their stomachs, Desa glanced over the side and saw herself staring at the flatbed of a truck, Drake’s arm hanging from the driver’s seat.

“That’s our ride,” Negan rumbled. “Jump!”

Two things crossed Desa’s mind: she was afraid of heights, and slamming into the flatbed of a moving truck hurt much, much _more_ than she’d anticipated. She crumpled, knees first, before landing on her back. The truck bounced on its axels as Carl joined, and then Negan.

The bus swerved, suddenly, prompting  _Drake_ to serve. Before Desa could say anything, the truck flew from the road, dipping head first into the narrow drainage ditch by the side of the road. Desa, Carl and Negan tumbled from the back before landing in a heap of tangled limbs. Once again, the wind was knocked from Desa’s body, and she felt drain water soak through her clothes.

“Nice job Drake!” Negan bellowed, wincing in pain and holding his shoulder. “Pretty sure I just broke every bone in my fucking body!”

Smoke seeped from the hood, and Drake fell from the drivers seat. The car was cloudy on the inside, the airbags having deployed, full force.

“Sorry,” Drake groaned, falling to his knees and holding his head. His eyes fell across Carl, and he said, “Shit, uh…the kid isn’t moving.”

Desa immediately flipped Carl onto his back. She checked his pulse — he was unconscious.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Negan groaned, staggering to his feet. His head whipped back and forth. “Where the fuck are they?”

“Got caught up by biters. A bunch flooded the road. We were so far ahead…,” Drake trailed off. “We need to move. Like, now. They’re coming.”

Groans filled the air. Gurgling, gasping groans that made Desa’s blood run cold. She felt Carl’s cheeks, checking his pulse once more out of instinct. She grabbed his hat from where it had fallen, placing it atop her head before hooking her arms beneath him.

“I’m not saying it’s the right thing to do, but we could, you know, leave the kid,” Drake wiped blood from his forehead. “Uh, shit.”

A few biters toppled into the drainage ditch, landing with a splash. Negan squeezed Desa’s shoulder and said, “I’ve got him.”

Drake drew his gun and fired, downing a biter. Negan, holding Carl in a vice grip, began limping towards the woods. Another biter fell, then another, flooding the ditch.

“Drake, cmon!” Desa shouted.

Another gunshot. Then Drake turned and began limping, his movements slower than Negan. Getting out of the ditch was going to be difficult. They were all wounded, to some degree. Drake fired, and fired, occasionally glancing over his shoulder, before a biter yanked at his shirt. 

“Drake!”

“Go!” Drake waved an arm as Negan, Carl in his arms, crawled up the steep, muddy slope. When he lost his footing and nearly fell, Desa began pushing him from behind. Drake was still fighting, attempting to keep them at bay — it wasn’t working, and with a final shove, he turned and limped with vigor from the ditch, Desa in tow.

They were still overrun. The biters looped in from the right, hobbling towards what they assumed to be their next meal. Desa wiped mud and sweat from her brow, cursing. Beside her, Negan repositioned Carl in her arms.

All of a sudden, his face paled.

“Drake?”

“What?”

“Your neck.”

Desa’s first instinct was to do nothing. She just stared. The bite mark was bleeding, but it was a bite mark, right above his collarbone.

And Drake, like her, did nothing. He just glanced down at the wound, and then glanced at Negan, acknowledging the horrified look on his face, and then at Desa.

“Tis’ but a scratch.”

“This…is not the time to be quoting Monty Python,” Desa said hollowly. “ _Drake_ …”

He just shrugged. He turned back towards the tide of biters, extending a hand and gesturing for Desa and Negan to get back.

“Go. Seriously. I’ll handle this.”

“Drake, we’re not leaving—”

“I’m giving you guys time. Being the hero or whatever,” Drake drew his knife and advanced. Over his shoulder, he called, “Take the kid and get out of here. And don’t die.”

Then, he began yelling. Waving his arms and his knife. The biters point of interest changed in that very moment, and they began shifting towards Drake as he hooted and howled and swung his knife, slowly inching towards the woods.

“C’mon,” Negan murmured. “Desa, let’s go.”

“I can’t—”

“You have to leave him. Let him go.”

Desa’s feet carried her, mind blank. Every once and a while she’d turn, watching Drake advancing farther and farther into the woods. The fifth time Desa looked back, she could see the color of his clothes and the glint of his knife. His hoots and howls had transformed into shrieks of agony. Teeth tore chunks away from his flesh, the dead descending upon him like a swarm of bees. His cries eventually became gurgles.

And then, there was nothing left.


	38. Chapter 38

_Their home was opened up from the outside — not by biters, but by vandals looking for food. They bashed in the windows and plied away the wooden beams. Four of them — Desa’s mother was in hysterics, still. She couldn’t get her husbands blood out of the carpet._

_Desa retrieved her father’s handgun, cocking it as her sister demanded that Jack hide in the closet upstairs. She had a crowbar as a weapon. The minute the vandals burst through, Desa fired. Blood spewed and the floor became painted with crimson._

_Bullets flew. One pierced Desa’s leg and she cried out. Her sister had no time to swing her crowbar before she was shot in the neck, the buckshot piercing through her throat and out the other end. Another hit her leg. Then another in the chest, and she fell._

_Desa screamed and fired, and fired, and fired, until blood filled her mind and her brain and—_

* * *

“They’re gone. They must have scattered,” Laura said. She sighed, glancing around the room before saying softly, “We didn’t see Drake. We would have…put him down if we had.”

“That’s not your job. Don’t worry about it,” Negan mumbled. Laura shot him a saddened look, before excusing herself. The meeting room was empty — Gavin and Eugene were out reinforcing the gates. Chairs that would have once been occupied by Simon, Regina, and Drake, were empty.

Rick’s people had found them, bloody and stumbling along holding a barely conscious Carl. They’d taken the boy, leaving Negan and Desa to fend for themselves — which Negan didn’t hold against him. Had Laura and Arat not rolled up a few minutes after….

Negan didn’t want to think about it. He still remembered Desa, blood coming from her mouth, leaning against him for support as they considered their options.

_You could never make the hard decisions._

Negan shook his head, standing and grabbing Lucille. He headed up towards the parlor. He had no clue which of his wives had decided to stay, and which had crawl back to join the workers. At this point, he really didn’t care.

Sherry, no longer clad in her black dress, met Negan at the top of the stairs. In a low voice, she said, “I tried bringing her food. She won’t eat.”

“That’s not your fucking job, Sherry—”

“I owe it to her. I was nasty towards her, because of Tanya…she _saved_  us,” Sherry blocked Negan’s path, and he rolled his eyes. “None of the others girls are staying. Neither am I.”

“Dwight sure as fuck won’t take you back, but by all means, go and try,” Negan scoffed.

“I don’t want him to take me back. We’re done. It’s  _over_ ,” Sherry replied bitterly. “So are we. But we’ve  _been_ over.”

Sherry bypassed him, heading towards the lower levels. Negan watched her go, lips pressed into a thin line. Part of him couldn’t deal with her bullshit. Not when Desa was in his room and in pain. But he had enough space in his heart to feel remorse for the way he treated her.

“ _Shit_ ,” Negan pinched the bridge of his nose. As he entered the parlor, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the mirror — haggard, hair disheveled, dark circles under his eyes pronounced. He looked as if he’d aged ten years in a week. He was certain Desa wasn’t any better, and when he entered his room, he found her buried beneath the covers of his bed.

She stirred, lifting her head. And in that moment, Negan nearly collapsed, for she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And he’d almost lost her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Desa mumbled. She reached for him as he shed his jacket, sliding into her arms. He nuzzled the side of her neck, inhaling, closing his eyes as her small hands reached up to touch his face. He kissed her, sighing into her lips.

“Sherry said that you won’t eat,” Negan murmured. “What’s wrong?”

“Can’t sleep, either. Nightmares.”

“About what?”

“Just…my family. My sister,” Desa shrugged. “It’s not anything new. I’m just letting them bother me.”

Negan’s fingers dipped beneath the hem of her shirt, tracing the bruises on her hips and ribs. She flinched, hissing. “Did Carson take care of you?”

“He did.”

“Good,” Negan murmured. They sat in silence, enjoying each others embrace. After a while Negan said, “You can’t fucking beat yourself up about Drake.”

“Everyone is dead,” Desa replied, her voice hollow. “Everyone that I know…that I  _knew,_ ” she sucked in a breath. “Alpha, the leader of the Whisperer’s…she called me an animal. She said that I belonged with her people because I’m meant to survive. I am, and I  _hate_  it. I hate that I’m not  _human_ anymore—”

“Then what does that fucking make me? Huh?  _I’m_  still alive,” Negan cupped her cheek. “If you’re a monster, then I’m a fucking monster. No fucking shame in living, Desa. None at all.”

Desa didn’t reply. Then, in a soft voice, she asked the question Negan knew would eventually come.

“Where’s Simon?”

* * *

_“Dad has a gun.”_

_Desa lifted her head. Jack’s eyes were wide with terror. His lower lip quivered, big, fat tears threatening to fall from his eyes. He was standing a foot away from the corpses of their invaders, and the corpse of their sister, which were beginning to rot and decay beneath the blankets that covered them._

_Desa was halfway from her chair._

_A gunshot._

_The boarded walls of the home shuddered. Candles, the only source of light in the room, wobbled. Then, the unmistakable, horrifying sound of Desa’s mother shrieking. Desa was quick to lose track of Jack — she assumed he’d stayed in the living room._

_Nothing would prepare her for the sight of her father, sprawled out across the floor, with half his head blown off from a self-inflicted gunshot wound._

* * *

Desa awoke screaming. Negan had to pin her thrashing body to the bed, his weight atop her as he cried her name.

She fell still.

“Nightmare,” Desa gasped. “I’m sorry.”

Negan peeled himself away, reaching over and flicking on the lamp. His bare chest heaved and he stroked Desa’s hair, murmuring, “I’m here. You’re safe.”

In an attempt to distract herself, Desa rolled atop him and kissed him. Her hands travelled across his body, from his neck down passed his navel. She missed him. She missed his body — everything. And between feverish, hungry kisses she verbalized that.

“Missed you,” Desa murmured. “I need you.”

Negan smoothed her hair back, and away from her face. Desa hastily shed her nightshirt, rising to her knees so she could kick off her panties. Negan watched, slipping two fingers beneath her folds. Pinpricks of pleasure shot from her core, throughout her sore body. Her mouth opened in silent bliss when he lifted his head to take one of her dark nipples into his mouth, humming at the contact. With each stroke of his fingers, Desa found herself getting closer and closer.

“That’s it, baby, that’s fucking it,” Negan groaned. Desa clenched, hard, around his fingers, eyes squeezed shut as white-hot sparks of bliss and pleasure shot through her entire body. She whined when he pulled his fingers away, sucking them into his mouth. Desa sat up, straddling his waist and staring down at him with her eyebrows raised.

Negan stared, tilting his head ever so slightly. Wet fingers rose to stroke Desa’s cheek, and in a low voice, he murmured, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Desa hummed, nipping at Negan’s lower lip, suckling on the skin. She could feel his erection straining against his boxers, but when she reached for it, he stopped her.

“You need to rest.”

Desa whined again, grinding her core against his clothed cock. When he stopped her again, she moaned, “Why?”

“Tomorrow,” Negan replied. “Tomorrow I want to spend the entire fucking day with you. Just us, in bed. Eating food, fucking, doing whatever the fuck we want.”

Desa slumped atop Negan, tucking her head beneath his chin. He gave a content sigh, wrapping his arms around her.

“Love you,” Desa mumbled, already feeling the clutches of sleep take her. Her body felt sated, satisfied. She had no idea if she even had another round left in her. So she closed her eyes, and prayed that there would be no nightmares.


	39. Chapter 39

No treaty ended the war. No negotiations. The bloodshed came to a standstill, and even Desa wasn’t sure whether or not Rick and his people had it out for them. At this point, it was the least of her concerns — her own deteriorating mental health deserve more attention.

_At least I’m self aware._

Drake and Regina would get no graves. Simon’s body had been burned. All three losses felt like a dagger through her heart, the wound deep and spewing. She masked her pain with a stone-cold visage.

“You’re still my right hand,” Negan murmured, kissing Desa on the cheek as they basked in the afterglow of lovemaking. “Now, more than fucking ever.”

Desa sighed, lips brushing against his temple as she rolled atop him, fingers dipping down to grasp his hardened cock. His breath was warm against her skin, hitching when she swept her thumb over the tip. Letting out a grunt, Negan sat up and flipped Desa so she lay, settled, on her back beneath him.

“Yes,” Desa hissed. She hooked her legs around his hips as he pushed in, slowly. He was watching each and every muscle in her face twitch, his lips responding to her lust-blown expression with a small smile, before latching onto her neck. The faster he thrust, the louder Desa became, until she was begging, senses overwhelmed by his mouth and his fingers and his cock-

Negan could barely form words, mouth open as he rolled his hips, slowing his movements when Desa clenched around him. In a low voice, he murmured, “That’s it. That’s fucking it. Come on, let the fuck go for me. Let go for me.”

It was more of a demand than a request. Desa obeyed, soaking his dick in her release before falling limp, tugging him against his as he, too, came with a groan of pleasure and contentment. Desa clawed at his back, desperately needing to just feel his skin beneath her fingers as stars danced behind her closed eyelids. The thought of letting him go was unbearable at this point. 

Negan rolled to his side, still keeping Desa in a vice grip. It was as if he were afraid to release her.

“I’m not going anywhere. Stay for a minute,” Desa chuckled, lightly running her knuckles across his cheek. “I know you have redirect duty later today.”

“Shit. Yeah,” Negan rubbed his eyes. “Usually Simon would be on it, but…”

Desa winced, but nodded in understanding. “I see.”

“We lost some good soldiers,” Negan murmured. “Hopefully we’ll be able to sort all this shit out. Get shit back to the way it was…maybe. I’m not fucking sure anymore. I’m not sure about anything anymore.”

“I don’t think that anybody does. I sure as hell don’t,” Desa sighed. “Maybe ignorance is bliss. Maybe that’s really true.”

“We’re fucked, if that’s the case,” Negan leaned over and kissed her, before rolling out of bed. Desa took the time to admire his very fine, very bare backside as he searched for his clothes while she remained under the covers, comfortable as can be. 

She noticed him staring rather long at Lucille, brows furrowed. Desa hummed, reaching for him. She said, “One day, you’re going to get rid of that bat.”

Negan froze. His eyebrows rose, his face contorting — though not in anger. He said, “You know what she means to me—”

“You have to heal, Negan. You  _have_  to let go—”

“You’re the only woman in my life right now. You,” Negan said, quickly putting on his clothes. As he buckled his belt, he added, “But this is all I have left of her. And I’m not fucking ready. Not yet.”

As he bypassed the bed, Desa reached out to grasp his wrist. She brought his palm to her lips, pressing a kiss against the skin. “Just…be careful out there.”

“I will. I fucking love you,” Negan winked, and Desa let him go. 

“Love you, too.”

* * *

An hour later, she decided to get up. Pulling on her clothes, she entered the vacant parlor. It felt different without his wives. She knew that he had no intention of taking them back, and part of her way grateful. Once again, things felt domestic, and not hectic. Normal.

The doors opened. Sherry walked in and stopped, mouth open in surprise when she saw Desa. Sheepishly, she said, “I’m just grabbing a few things that I left behind—”

“I’m not mad at you, Sherry,” Desa shook her head, and the woman’s shoulders sagged with relief. “I have to much on my mind to be angry.”

Desa sat on one of the couches, patting the cushion next to her. Sherry sat, dark hair framing her face as she ducked her head. “I’m glad things are getting back on track.”

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Desa said. “I imagined you’d go with Dwight — I’d have vouched for you—”

“Dwight and I aren’t together. It was never going to work.”

“Even…before?”

Sherry shrugged. She let out a breath, leaning back and saying, “Dwight and I found Negan. We let him in to our group of stragglers. I think…the moment I saw him was when it hit me. I went to him, first, not vice versa. Way before the Sanctuary. Before the Saviors. I felt less bad about becoming a wife because I’d already been with him before—”

Desa made a low noise in the back of her throat. She wanted to be angry — but she couldn’t.

Sensing her discomfort, Sherry said, “I didn’t love him. Never have, never will. That’s the difference. You’ve made him a better man.”

“I’ve made him a  _damaged_ man,” Desa murmured. “I led him to the Estate. I led him to Father. If I’d have just…kept walking when I spotted this place—”

“I say that everyday. What if I’d said no? What if I’d been faithful to Dwight? But it’s done, and I can’t go back. Neither can you. You don’t have to move on all alone.”

“Thank you, Sherry.”

Sherry wrapped an arm around Desa and squeezed. The two women sat, basking in the emptiness of the parlor.

* * *

“Did Negan approve of this?”

“I’ll be back before he gets back. It won’t take too long,” Desa peered over at Laura, sliding into the truck. She rolled her eyes, quirking her lips before patting the side of the truck.

“You really don’t like following orders, do you?”

“I was never good at it. I never liked being cooped up in one place, anyway,” Desa smirked. “You’re in charge until I get back.”

“Get back. Don’t disappear on us like last time,” Laura joked, and Desa chuckled. She signaled the guards and they hastily opened the gates. She left the Sanctuary, headed towards Alexandria — in the passengers seat lay a basked filled with toys and books she’d scavenged.

_Are you doing this for her, or for yourself?_

_Both._

From her knowledge, Alexandria was in the stages of rebuilding. While Rick’s home had been spared, the others had suffered, some destroyed, some burned. The townhouses were some of the only structures left standing, along with a few houses near the gate that had escaped the explosive assault.

She parked the car on the grass, just outside the gate, before hopping out and taking the basket with her. To her relief, Carl greeted her.

“Desa?”

“I brought some things for your sister. I know we took a lot,” Desa shrugged as Carl slid open the gate. “I’m not staying long — I just wanted to drop this off.”

Carl took the box, smiling. Mirth danced in his eyes and he said, “She said her first word the other day.”

“I’m assuming it was my name?”

Carl laughed, shaking his head. Desa smiled as he said, “She still has the keychain you gave her.”

“Well, it’s hers. And so are those. I’m not sure when she’ll start reading, some of them are kind of advanced—”

“What are  _you_  doing here?”

Rick approached, walking rather fast. It occurred to Desa that, of course, Carl was probably the  _only_  Alexandrian who had an inkling of trust towards her. The rest had every reason to be hostile, and here she was, encroaching on their territory. Again.

In a low voice, she said, “Hello, Rick.”

“She brought toys for Judith,” Carl glanced at his father. Rick visibly relaxed, and Carl added, “I’m going to go show them to Michonne. Thank you, Desa.”

“My pleasure.”

She was left alone with Rick. He still didn’t look pleased, but she could see in his eyes that he was making an attempt to come to terms with the situation. He looked around before changing his posture, saying, “Is Negan with you?”

“No. Just me. But anything you say to me will go right back to him.”

“That’s what I want. We need to talk. You’re his mouthpiece — that’s good enough for me.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

_I was hoping to avoid this._

Desa sighed, following Rick. She was aware of the stares — the woman who’d attempted to take Negan’s life stood on one of the porches, glaring daggers in Desa’s direction. She was glad to get out of the spotlight and into Rick’s home, where he closed the door and gestured for her to sit at the dining room table.

Michonne joined Rick adjacent to Desa. Now she felt outnumbered — the unexpected meeting was putting her on edge, making her wary.

_That’s exactly what they want._

_They’ve learned._

“We want to negotiate sharing our resources,” Michonne began. “Start over, and then start off _right_. Can you get Negan to agree to that?”

“I’m surprised you’re not asking me to kill him.”

“Carl vouched for you,” Rick said. “He told me how _you_  protected him from those Whisperers. You aren’t Negan. I’m willing to take a chance with  _you_ , not him.”

“Can you do it?” Michonne pressed.

“By sharing resources, you mean…?”

“Trade,” Rick said. “Between Alexandria, the Hilltop, the Sanctuary and the Kingdom. It’s not a done deal — the goal in the end is to have everyone sitting down together.”

“Including Negan?”

Rick closed his eyes and sighed. Michonne just stared blankly, something akin to ire twinkling behind her dark eyes.

“Yes,” Rick said reluctantly. “Even Negan.”

“Then I’m in. I’ll talk to him. Making plans for the future is something we need to do,” Desa laced her fingers together. “Will Maggie agree to this?”

“We’ll see,” Rick said. “We also want assistance rebuilding Alexandria. Reparations.”

“Reparations?” Desa reeled back. “From what I remember,  _you_ struck  _first._ You slaughtered my people while they _slept_.”

“What would have happened,” Michonne said, “Had we not? Would Negan have been merciful?”

Desa ground her teeth, looking away. She had a point. Someone would have died, regardless. Negan would have asserted his dominance regardless of whether or not bullets and been exchanged.

“We’ll never know,” Desa quipped. “It’s something we have to move on from. But we don’t have to do it alone.”


	40. Chapter 40

_“We’ll stop here for the night,” Desa’s mother huffed. She peered into the back of the abandoned tractor trailer._

_Their clothes were tattered, bodies drenched in sweat and blood. Jack clung to Desa as if she were his lifeline, body gaunt, at the beginning stages of starvation. Beans and raw rabbit meat were the only things churning in their stomachs._

_A car roared down the road. Bullets flew. One struck her mother in the back and she fell. Their attackers hooted and hollered when they saw the straggling family, fresh meat, more people to take advantage of—_

_“Run!” Desa’s mother shrieked, blood pooling in her mouth. “Run!”_

_Desa grabbed Jack’s arm and ran._

* * *

_“Momma!”_

_“Momma! Momma no! Momma!”_

The screams tore their way through Desa’s throat. She lay in the bed alone, thrashing, shrieking.

“I want my momma,” she sobbed. “I want my momma.”

_She’s dead._

_You can’t have her._

* * *

“When was your last menstrual cycle?” Carson asked nonchalantly. When Desa didn’t reply, he lifted his head and said, exasperated, “I just need to know for reference. You came in here for a check-up, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I don’t expect you to. That’s what I’m for,” Carson knelt, poking and prodding at Desa’s crude stitches. Sucking on his teeth, he murmured, “Whoever did these was obviously  _not_  a doctor.”

“Do you have pregnancy tests around?”

“Yes,” Carson raised his eyebrows. “You think you’re  _pregnant_?”

“I haven’t had my period in a while. I can usually feel it before it happens but…so much has happened.”

“Are you and Negan trying for a baby?”

“You’re being awfully nosy today, Emmett.”

Carson rolled his eyes, slapping on fresh gauze. He gestured for Desa to remain sitting, disappearing into the back room and returning with a two pregnancy tests. “I only ask because we don’t have the resources to deliver a baby here. We might get them, but the Hilltop has all of the good stuff. The high tech equipment. Unless you want to give birth naturally—”

“Not a fan.”

“The world is painful enough,” Carson shook his head, and Desa took the tests. “And before you try those out, just know, nothing is wrong with you. It’s all in your head. I’m not a therapist. I deal with what’s on the outside, not what’s on the inside. The only thing I can tell you is that you and Negan both need to take it easy.”

“If I’m pregnant, you’d better have better advice than that,” Desa smirked, hopping from the table. She heard Carson mumble to himself before she shut the bathroom door, flicking on the light and staring at herself in the mirror.

_Test 1: Positive._

Desa let out a sigh.

_Test 2: Positive._

“I’m going to kill Negan,” she murmured. She bounced on her heels, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against the countertop. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

* * *

When Negan returned, he was  _filthy_  — covered from head to toe in blood that was not his own. The moment Desa met him in the courtyard, he extended his arms and crowed, “Want a hug?”

“Go  _bathe_  first,” Desa turned away as the smell assaulted her nostrils. The rest of his men followed behind, hopping from the trucks. They, too, were bruised and battered from the redirect efforts. Negan was the only one who seemed relatively chipper. Desa added, “Did the biters give you trouble?”

“One fell on top of me—”

Desa rushed forward, already examining his body for bites as her heart sunk.

“But Skinny Joey knocked that fuckers head off before it could take a bite out of me,” Negan reassured her. “Hence the fucking blood.”

“I’m glad you came back alive.”

Negan stared. Then, he said, “You have that weird fucking look on your face. The one where you look like you’re going to say something, but you’re thinking way to fucking hard about it.”

“I have something on my mind,” Desa shrugged, ducking her head. She gestured towards the building, sighing and saying, “Go shower.  _Then_  we can talk—”

“We can talk here—”

“ _Shower_ , Negan,” Desa said firmly. She laughed at his dumfounded expression, watching as the gears turned in his brain, and it clicked.

“Oh.  _Oh_ ,” almost giddily, Negan grabbed Lucille and pranced inside. Desa watched him go, a hand slapped over her mouth. Arat approached, eyebrows raised as she adjusted the bag she carried over her shoulder.

“What’s got him so excited?”

“…Nothing.”

“You’re hiding something,” Arat nudged her in the shoulder, and Desa laughed. Her hands absently travelled to her stomach, a subtle indication that Arat picked up on almost immediately.

“ _No_ ,” Arat’s mouth dropped open, lips curling into a smile. “No way!”

“I took the tests a few hours ago,” Desa admitted. “I don’t feel any different. I just…I have a feeling. A good feeling.”

* * *

“I’m glad you’re back,” Desa inhaled, face pressed against the crook of Negan’s neck as he held her, his skin warm and smelling of fresh, fruity soap. The pad of his thumb stroked Desa’s bare shoulder.

“Missed you,” Negan mumbled. “Fucking asshole biters gave us a run for our fucking money. Dealing with that shit is a pain.”

“Well, I have something to tell you,” Desa pulled away, lips curling upwards into a smile. Negan tilted his head to the side, but said nothing, watching curiously as Desa reached out and grasped his hand, positioning his palm so that it lay flat against her stomach.

His eyes widened.

“No  _fuckin_ ’ way.”

Desa smiled wider, cheeks flushed as she giggled and said, “Yeah. You’re going to be a dad.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Negan repeated, shaking his head before burying his face against Desa’s shoulder. She laughed, stroking his hair as he made a noise in the back of his throat that Desa recognized as a stifled sob. When he lifted his head, he cradled Desa’s face between his palms and said softly, “I want you to fucking marry me. Be my wife. My  _only_  wife. My actual fucking wife.”

“Of course I’ll marry you. I already kind of thought we were married,” Desa gave a mirthful laugh. “I love you.”

“I know just the fucking person to marry us. You know that priest that I told you about? Who helped save my ass? I mean, we don’t have to do this shit now. We can always fucking wait until after the baby comes—”

“ _Negan_ ,” Desa raised a finger to his lips. She pulled it away as he fell silent, leaning over and kissing him before saying softly, “We have  _time_. No need to rush.”

“Right. You’re right.  _Shit_. I’m just eager,” Negan shook his head, wrapping his arms once more about Desa. “I can’t believe I’m going to be a fucking dad…I can’t fucking believe it—”

“Did you and Lucille have children?”

Negan fell silent. Fearing that she’d upset him, Desa placed a hand on his shoulder. Before she could speak, he answered. “ _No_ ,” he said. “I…I was a fucking teacher before all this shit. I dealt with kid enough. We’d talked about it, when we first got married…maybe eventually we would have tried.”

“You were a teacher?” Desa smiled, and Negan nodded. She couldn’t imagine him willingly running around with kids, certainly not with the mouth he had on him.

As if reading Desa’s thoughts, Negan added, “I got in trouble a whole fucking lot for my mouth. I didn’t give a shit though. I guarantee you those fuckers heard that shit at home, anyway. Or with each other.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Desa chuckled, flopping onto the back, lying on her back and staring at the ceiling. She felt the bed dip beside her, and then Negan’s warm breath against the side of her face.

Then, in the most un-romantic manner, he said, “Can you fuck while you’re pregnant?”

“I’m barely pregnant. I think we’ll be okay,” Desa rolled over, staring into his dark eyes. “But I am tired. So,  _so_  tired.”

“You’ve barely had any fucking rest,” Negan cradled her in his arms, chuckling. Lowering his voice, he said, “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing you don’t know about.”

“That’s broad as  _fuck_. C’mon, now,” Negan gave her a squeeze. “Is is some shit that I said or did?”

“No, of course not.”

Desa didn’t know if she had the heart to tell Negan her true thoughts, out of fear that she’d worry him. Then again, he could read her like an open book now. He was so attune to her emotions that trying to hide it would cause even more strain than it was worth.

“Alpha tried so hard to pull me in,” Desa said softly. “She made me look at myself as if I were a monster. It felt terrible. So, so terrible. And she was right. I am a monster, and freak. But…we  _all_  are, right?” 

Desa turned to face Negan. His lips were pressed into a thin line as he pondered over her words, before saying, “Do you think that’s a bad thing?”

“I don’t know. But we’ve lost our humanity,” Desa replied. “All of us. This new world we’re trying to build…how do you come back from that? How do we fix that? How am I going to tell my child that I killed their uncle, and ate human flesh—”

“Hey, slow down,” Negan grasped her hand. “You’re thinking way ahead. That shit doesn’t matter right now. We just have to deal with the shit we have on our plate, first.”

“We can’t mend the things that are broken. The things that we broke during this whole war. Negan, I know…I know I’ve followed you since the beginning, and I’ll continue to do that until the very end. You’re my soulmate. But going forward, things need to change. The Saviors needs to change. We can’t go around bashing in heads, taking people as our slaves or burning faces.”

“I do all of that terrible shit to keep people safe,” Negans struggled with his words, looking conflicted more than ever. Desa squeezed his hand, prompting him to flash a small smile.

“We have to move past that. The burnings, the beating…every time, I think of  _him_. We need a community based on trust, on family…Drake died because he cared so deeply about me, and about you…he believed in this place and what it could become.”

“He died because of  _me._ ”

Desa flinched. Drake’s death was the sorest of them all. She knew that his demise bothered Negan more than he’d ever let on.

“I should have left him here. He wasn’t a fucking fighter. He scavenged, and he ran. He shouldn’t have been driving that fucking car—”

“If not him, it would have been Laura or Arat or Gavin.”

“No,” Negan shook his head. “Laura, Arat and Gavin know how to fucking fight. They wouldn’t have gotten bit and fucking died. This is why I do what I fucking do, Desa. People are fucking weak. All of them. And they fucking die. Everyone I care about fucking dies, and I can’t stop it—”

“What if I die?”

“Don’t,” Negan’s voice dropped, and he raised a hand. Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes, but he held them back. “Don’t say that. Please. Fucking please—”

“It’s going to happen. Even if I do live a long, fulfilled life, I’ll grow old. Sick. I’ll die eventually. We all do,” Desa pressed. “It’s a matter of when, not if. While we’re here we should do something meaningful. If it means laying down our life so that others — our child, their children — can prosper? So be it. That’s  _life_ , Negan. That’s being human. That’s what I want us, and this place, to be.”

“Okay. Okay,” Negan murmured. “No more talk about dying. I’ll make the change, I promise.”

“Just see how it goes,” Desa whispered, pressing her lips against Negan’s forehead. When she pulled away, she smiled and said, “We’re meeting Rick tomorrow to negotiate, remember?”

“I fucking remember. I’m not fucking excited about it,” Negan rolled his eyes.

“You’ll have me there. You’re not going alone.”

“Desa—”

“Right hand woman, remember?” Desa snuggled against his chest. “Besides, someone needs to be there to keep you from saying something stupid.”


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ve got five chapters left till the end, guys! I’ll probably be updating once a day until the end, so bear with me.

They congregated on neutral ground, picking an old, abandoned and boarded up diner as their meeting place. Rick and Michonne had already arrived, and upon entering the building, the tension became palpable. Negan, of course, took advantage of this and decided the best thing to do would be to make it more awkward.

He sat, kicking his feet up against the table and whistling, “Afternoon,  _Rick_.”

Rick nodded, shifting his gaze away. His booted foot tapped nervously against the hardwood floor.

Ezekiel came next. Desa had never met the leader of the Kingdom, and he walked with elegance and swagger. Behind him came a grey haired, shorter woman who quickly embraced Rick and Michonne. Maggie was last, a long-haired, bearded man whom Desa recognized as Jesus on her heels.

They’d left their weapons at the door, including Lucille.

Lips pressed into a thin line, the grey haired woman extended a hand to Desa. She ignored Negan, but her tone was light, with a hint of forced politeness.

“We haven’t met. I’m Carol.”

“Desa.”

They shook hands. The woman then sat down next to Ezekiel, looking wary. Once everyone was settled, Maggie cleared her throat and began to speak.

“I’m glad we could all sit down together. This is what a civilized society looks like. Diplomacy,  _not_ violence,” she shot a less-than friendly glance at Negan, before averting her gaze. “I’m confident that we can work things out like this moving forward.”

“Well, I for one am happy to fucking be here and not, you know, back out there throwing bullets around. We aren’t fucking savages,” Negan rolled his eyes.

“You brutally beat two of our people to death,” Michonne hissed. “Seems pretty savage to me.”

“That could have been avoided, but stupid do what stupid  _fucking_ does—”

“ _Stop_ ,” Maggie slapped her palm against the table, glaring. “We’re not going to sit here argue about the past. We have  _work_  to do.”

“Agreed,” Ezekiel proclaimed. “There is much to be done. First and foremost, we must assure that Rick and his people have the supplies they need to continue rebuilding their home.”

“We’ll help with that,” Desa said. Before Negan could object, she added, “We have more building supplies than we know what to do with.”

She glanced over at Negan, and he shrugged, murmuring, “Yeah, sure.”

“Thank you,” Rick nodded.

“What about food?” Negan blurted. “We have a limited amount of fucking soil. We’re not farmers,” he glanced at Maggie and Jesus. “The  _arrangement_  we had before with the Hilltop…can that shit still continue?”

“You’re not taking half,” Jesus said.

“Twenty-five percent, then?” Negan said.

“Fifteen.”

“ _Deal_ ,” Negan rested his gloved hand against the table. “We’ll provide you with guns. Something other than those flimsy-ass spears you have. Speaking of flimsy, how’s Gregory? Is that fucker still alive?”

“He’s where he needs to be,” Jesus replied. Negan smirked, dipping his head.

“Good. I always hated that asshole.”

“We  _all_  did.”

The meeting continued smoothy, other than a few hiccups which occurred when Negan lost control of his smart mouth. Resources were split, and in the end, all four parties walked away relatively satisfied. Trade routes would be drawn up, as well as lines of communication between the four communities. The gathering concluded with Negan making a final request that had Desa’s face flushing.

“One last fucking thing,” Negan said. He jerked a thumb in Desa’s direction. “ _Two_  fucking things, actually. One, my lady and I plan on getting married. Nothing  _too_  fucking fancy, but if you don’t mind, Rick, I’d like to borrow your priest for the ceremony. Two, I made a bit of a boo-boo and busted inside her while we were fucking, and lo and behold, guess what? In nine months a fucking _baby_  is going to come out of her! Unfortunately my community isn’t equipped to deliver a child safely. So I was wondering if we could use _your_ community for checkups and deliveries. I know you have the equipment.”

He held Maggie’s gaze, eyebrows raised as he awaited an answer.

“You’re pregnant?” Michonne suddenly said. Desa nodded sheepishly.

“Courtesy of yours truly,” Negan boasted, grinning.

_Please shut up, Negan. Please shut up._

Maggie sighed, taking a moment to think. Desa saw her hand absently rest against her swollen belly, before she said, “Yes. You’re welcome to use Dr. Carson, however, _he_ ,” she pointed at Negan, “Will  _not_  step foot inside my community.”

“Fair,” Negan said. Beneath the table, he squeezed Desa’s hand. “If not me, then…?”

“Anyone but you,” Maggie said.

Desa looked away. The meeting ended, and she and Negan quickly hurried towards their truck. They weren’t welcome — Desa didn’t mind, but she wanted to leave as quickly as possible before Negan decided to antagonize Rick any more than he already had.

“That went well,” Desa climbed into the truck, letting out a sigh. “I’m glad Maggie agreed to let me use Harlan Carson. I feel better. I’m less worried.”

Negan started the truck, reaching over to place his hand against her flat stomach. “Good. You know there’s no reason to be afraid. Whatever fucking happens, I’ll be with you. Always.”

“I know,” Desa glanced down at his hand. “I know.”

* * *

A week turned into two weeks. Then three. Then six, seven, eight, nine, and ten. Then twelve and thirteen. Then eighteen. until Desa could stand naked in the mirror and see and feel the swell in her stomach. The morning sickness had dissipated, replaced with the added weight of a human growing inside her small body.

That was when she and Arat drove to the Hilltop. They respected Maggie’s wishes and left Negan behind, although he spent plenty of time begging and bribing Desa to let him come. She didn’t break, and he finally caved and stayed put.

To Desa’s surprise, it was Carl who greeted them at the gate. At the sight of him, Desa waved and asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m learning how to become a blacksmith. Theres a guy here who’s been teaching me,” Carl replied. “I like it. Plus my, uh, girlfriend is here.”

“You have a girlfriend?”

“Enid,” Carl said sheepishly. “She’s cool. You’d like her.”

Arat remained near the truck while Desa followed Carl. She saw his eyes travel to the small bulge in her stomach, and without preamble he asked, “Did you plan on having a kid?”

“No,” Desa admitted. “It kind of just…happened. I’m happy, though.”

“I’m glad it worked out like this.”

“Thank you, Carl.”

The boy headed off, stating that he had another lesson with the blacksmith. Desa entered Harlan Carson’s trailer, poking her head around the corner before walking up the steps. He greeted her with a warm smile, before gesturing for Desa to lay on a padded table.

“You’ve never had a kid before, right?”

“Right.”

“So this is all new to you,” Harlan began fiddling with the machines. “If you have any questions, I’ll answer them. Maggie had her baby a few weeks ago — she’s a good resource if you need any tips before delivery, etcetera…”

“I don’t think Maggie likes me,” Desa snorted. “I don’t blame her. It’s better if I avoid her.”

“She doesn’t like Negan. Most of us don’t. But I think she see’s how different you are from him,” Harlan gently slid Desa’s shirt up. “Don’t worry  _too_  much about it. Things are going well, for all of us. These have been the most peaceful five months in a long,  _long_  time.”

Desa winced as the gel touched her skin. Soon, she was staring at an image — a beating heart, curled toes, a hand, a foot, a head. She sucked in a breath as Carson watched her, a smile on his face.

“Do you want to know the gender?”

“Yes, please.”

Carson studied the image. His smile widened and he laced his fingers together, turning to Desa and saying, “Congratulations. You’re having a boy.”


	42. Chapter 42

Desa had the ultrasound image tucked into her bag when she and Arat returned, beaming from ear to ear. For the first time in what seemed like years, she was content — the baby was an added bonus, but the sight of the Sanctuary and it’s reinforced fence, it’s workers looking happier than every before, made her forget the horrors of the outside world for just a moment. And she relished that moment, no matter how brief it was.

She thanked Arat before heading upstairs. As she walked, Eugene matched her steps.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Desa said.

“Returning to Alexandria would have done me more harm than it was worth. I am content here, where my contributions are appreciated.”

Desa stopped, raising her eyebrows. Eugene’s lower lip was quivering, a sign that he wasn’t telling the entire truth.

“You miss them.”

“They were simply my traveling companions—”

“ _Eugene._  If you’re not happy here, don’t stay. We could still work with you,” Desa placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know what it’s like to feel trapped. I don’t want that to be you.”

“My loyalties lie with Negan and the Saviors and I assure you that will not change. There is nothing that remotely peaks my interest back in Alexandria, so I will remain here until I am forcefully removed, or unfortunately incapacitated.”

Desa nodded. She turned and continued walking, and when she glanced over her shoulder, Eugene was still watching her.

_He’ll come around._

“You look like you just saw a fucking ghost,” Negan commented. Desa shut the door behind her.

“No. Just Eugene,” Desa crawled onto the bed where he lay, jacket draped across the couch, boots over by the closet. She straddled his hips, and instantly his hand went to push up her shirt so he could bend down and pepper her swollen stomach with kisses. She murmured, “We’re having a boy.”

Negan’s head shot up, eyes wide. His lips curled into a smile as Desa reached over to rummage through her bag, pulling out the ultrasound.

“Holy shit,” Negan stared at the image. “Look at him. Already looks like a fucking badass.”

“Just like his dad.”

“ _And_  his mom,” Negan bent down to kiss Desa’s stomach again, then her neck, then her mouth. “Why do I feel like this shit is too good to be true?”

“It’s real. The world has been robbed of happiness,” Desa replied. She slid from Negan’s lap, sighing and resting her head against the pillows. “That’s why it feels like a dream.”

Negan was still staring down at the ultrasound. Not looking away, he said, “How about we name him Jack?”

“I would like that.”

“Yeah,” Negan chuckled. “Jack. I like that, too.”

* * *

Four months passed, and the situation changed.

“Two of the trail guards are dead,” Laura ran fingers through her long hair. “Two guys from the Kingdom. Looks like they were stabbed — Daryl followed some tracks and said that he saw those skin freaks.”

Desa’s heart dropped. “The Whisperers?” 

“I knew those fuckers would come back,” Negan said, exasperated. “Goddammit. Okay. For now we’ll station more guards along the trade trails, keep them from jacking up any of the caravans. The sooner we call a meeting and discuss taking the guys out, the easier it’ll be.”

“They run on a hierarchy system,” Desa warned. “Killing Alpa won’t be enough. Beta will just replace her. And someone will replace him…”

“Are you suggesting that we kill  _all_  of them?” Gavin asked, shifting in his chair.

“ _No_. I’m saying that trying to fight them might be more trouble than it’s worth. I’m suggesting that we try diplomacy. See what they want. If they can contribute to what we’ve built, we can work  _something_  out.”

“You spent time with them,” Gavin said. “Do you think that they’ll cooperate?”

Desa pursed her lips, glancing around. She’d given Negan an in depth explanation of the Whisperers society, how they travelled and lived and, most importantly, Alpha and Beta’s methods. There was something in her that wanted to believe that they could compromise, and work things out. But another part of her had Alpha’s words in a loop, her philosophy that society was  _gone_.

“They think that society is weak,” Desa said softly. “That society gets people killed, and that we have to live relying on our basic, primal instincts. Like  _animals_.”

“Well that’s the fucking  _opposite_ of what we’re trying to do,” Negan said. “If we can’t sit down and talk, we can’t avoid a conflict.”

“I know. I just…there has to be some way to dissuade them, to send them away.”

“I can’t think of anything that doesn’t involve bullets,” Gavin crossed his arms. He, too look conflicted. “Right now, we need to strengthen our defenses and make sure everyone else is on the same page.”

“Shit,” Negan rubbed his temples. He glanced over at Desa, saying, “Alright. Here’s the fucking plan. I’ll meet up with Rick and the others. I want Arat to take you to the Hilltop. Stay there until this shit gets sorted out.”

Desa pouted, placing a hand on her protruding belly, hidden beneath the mountain of oversized clothes that she wore. She was small, and even at nine months she wasn’t looking as if she were ready to burst. That, along with her baggy clothes, made concealing her stomach easier.

“When the kid is ready to come out, he’ll come out. He won’t really care what the fuck is happening around you,” Negan chuckled. “So I’d rather you be somewhere where there’s a doctor twenty-four fucking seven than here.”

“Fair,” Desa said. As Gavin and Laura left, she waddled over to Negan. “Please take my advice.  _Diplomacy._  And if that does’t work… _then_  bullets. But diplomacy comes first.”

“I might have to let Ezekiel deal with that shit. Or, hell, the widow. Rick  _sucks_  at diplomacy. So do I.”

“As long as it gets done, and you come back in one piece, I don’t care how you do it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Negan gave a mock salute, standing and pulling Desa into his arms. They rocked for a second, until Desa tilted her head up to kiss him. Very softly he murmured, “I love you,” against her lips.

“Love you to. Come back to me,” Desa whispered. “Promise me.”

“I promise. I fucking promise.”


	43. Chapter 43

Sending her away was the hardest thing Negan had ever had to do.

Well, it wasn’t like she was “leaving.” The Hilltop wasn’t too far of a drive, but the fact that it was, well, away bothered him. It always did. He hated being apart from her, because every time, he would wonder. Had something happened? Was she alive? Dead?  _Undead_?

It was like Lucille all over again, but this time, it was repetitive, as if he were trapped in some type of sick purgatory. He knew she was strong, but there were some things even the strongest wasn’t strong enough to beat. Like death.

He stared down at the ring on his finger. He’d salvaged it, as well as Desa’s. They’d written vows and everything, sitting in an empty room while Gabriel spoke and declared them wed. No dresses or cake or fancy music. The title of “wife” should have felt empty to Negan, but it didn’t. Because it was  _her_.

“We’re ready to go, boss,” one of his men, Gary, said. Gary was beginning to inch his way into Simon’s former spot, replacing the now deceased man as the tall, scary, intimidating Savior. He was lacking, however, the facial hair and the psychotic, impulsive tendencies that had gotten Simon killed in the first place.

Negan could work with that.

“You okay, boss?” Arat approached, arms crossed. Negan smirked, shrugging before climbing into the jeep. Arat added, “She’ll be fine. Don’t worry about her — she’s tough.”

“I know, I fucking know.”

Arat smiled, before hopping into her own car. Negan let out a breath, glancing in the rearview as the Sanctuary faded out of view. They met Rick and his people near the silo, in the field where the Whisperer’s had once set up camp. Un-reanimated bodies littered the grass, and Negan gingerly stepped over the bodies, over to where Rick was standing. He saw Daryl, standing off to the side near Dwight. The scarred man was glaring at Negan, and Negan glared right back.

“I sent some of my people to patrol the area. Once they send word, we can move,” Rick gazed off at the horizon, before turning to Negan. In a soft voice, he said, “How’s Desa?”

“She’s fine. I sent her to the Hilltop,” Negan replied bluntly. “Your boy is there. I’m assuming she’ll be pretty damn well safe with him. Damn. He’s going to make a fine leader in the future, Rick. You should be fucking proud.”

“I’m prouder than ever,” Rick gave him the side eye, and Negan whistled. Rick was still wary, still nervous around him.

In a jovial manner, Negan said, “ _Rick_. We’re fucking friend now, right? You don’t have to look at me like I’m going to bite your fucking head off—”

“We’re  _not_ friends, and we’ll never  _be_  friends. The only time I’ll  _ever_ see you is during situations like these.  _War_. You’re not welcome inside Alexandria, you’re not welcome into the Hilltop. I’m certain Ezekiel isn’t going to allow you anywhere near the Kingdom.”

“Jesus. That’s fucking  _cold_ , Rick,” Negan gnawed on his lower lip. “But you allowed Father — or, excuse me, fucking  _Adam_. And he was a sadist who enjoyed rape and torture.”

“And you’re not?”

“Oh, Rick. You know me. I never got off on any of the shit that I did. Beating in your friends heads? That was a necessary evil. I’m so used to the shit that I can make it fun, for me, at least. But is it pleasurable? Fuck no. Fuck to the  _no_ ,” Negan smirked. “Father hid his true self from you, and  _shit,_ did he do an  _excellent_  job. At least I was open from the get-go.”

“That doesn’t make you any better than him. We could have worked together, kept our people from needlessly dying. Instead you chose subjugation and fear.”

“What the fuck  _ever_ ,” Negan rolled his eyes. “Jesus fuck, Rick, you’ve never going to let this shit go. I’ll bash in a skull or two if it means keeping people alive. You’ll kill dozens just to keep some pathetic people who are going to fucking die anyway, safe. It’s a fucking  _waste_.”

Rick glared. Before he could retaliate, thundering footsteps sounded from behind, and several Kingdom soldiers emerged from the trees on horseback. Blood stained their armor, and the lead, Carol, huffed, “We found them. We tried to talk them down but they attacked,” she let out a sigh, before wiping her eyes and meeting Rick’s worried gaze. “Morgan didn’t make it. They took him down — there were too many—”

“ _How_  many?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell them apart from the walkers. We need to hurry —  _now_. Rick, Michonne and Ezekiel are there.”

* * *

“I can start prepping everything for delivery, if you want,” Carson smiled lightly. “You’re due in the next few days. If the baby comes early, we’ll need to be prepared.”

Desa was trying very hard not to be nervous. Despite the stabbings, beatings, and numerous other dangerous and life-threatening situations she’d been abruptly thrust into, this was by far the most difficult. Fear wasn’t gripping her, just an anxiety that she knew would go away the moment Negan was with her. She wondered if Maggie would allow him to enter the Hilltop once — just once.

She doubted it, but it was worth a shot. The woman had barely spoken to Desa, having chosen to ignore her and focus on her own child. That didn’t mean Desa couldn’t force a conversation out of her, which she went on a quest to do the minute Carson was finished giving her a quick check-up.

She entered the huge mansion, eyes flitting around until she spotted the stairs. She climbed them, finally reaching what she assumed to be Maggie’s room. She knocked lightly, ducking her head until she heard a soft voice tell her to enter.

She did. Maggie’s son, Hershel, lay asleep in his crib. Maggie, eyes hollow, lips set into a thin line, looked her up and down before simply saying, “Can I help you with something?”

“I’d like to ask a favor.” 

“ _No_. He’s taking one step inside here. I don’t care what you have to say,” Maggie turned away. Sucking in a breath, she said, “We had an agreement.”

Maggie looked surprised when she turned back and saw Desa still standing there.

“ _Leave_ , Desa.”

“ _No_. I’ve had to deal with this before. If you have a problem with me, I want you to say it. Verbalize it while I’m standing here in front of you,” Desa smirked. “You might find it helpful.”

“It took everything in my power not to kill you the minute we met,” Maggie glared. “I still want to, but I can’t do it without feeling guilty. It’s not what Glenn would want me to do.”

“Glenn—”

“My husband. The father of your child killed him in front of me,” Maggie faced Desa fully. “And I know that if you were to die, Negan would hurt. I want him to feel that. I want him to feel the same pain that I felt. Glenn had a heart a thousand times bigger than mine. He would have forgiven you or tried to understand, because that’s the man he was. That’s the man your husband took from this world, just so he could prove a  _point_.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t work,” Desa glanced to the empty seat beside Maggie. She tested her steps, slowly walking over. When Maggie didn’t budge she sat down, aware that the woman’s eyes were following her. “Making other people hurt because you’re angry. Father — Adam — the man you took in. He hurt me. Badly. He hurt Negan even more. Trust me — any pain you wish on Negan has already been felt.”

Maggie’s eyes flickered away. Up close, Desa could see her hand curled at her side, resting against the hilt of her knife. She didn’t pull it, eyes still focused on the ground. Desa said, “When I killed Father I didn’t feel any better. It didn’t bring my brother back and it didn’t make me forget about the countless times he tortured me, and tortured Negan just for the  _fun_  of it.”

“I feel sorry for you. But I don’t for him,” Maggie said simply. She ran fingers through her hair, sitting up straight. Letting out a sigh, she said, “I’ll work with you, Desa, as best as I can. You’re welcome here anytime, and so is your child. Just don’t invite any trouble. My people have had enough of that.”

“Thank you.”


	44. Chapter 44

The forest reeked of blood, alive and dead. The Whisperer’s were attacking with knives and bows and arrows, concealed well by the underbrush, using the biters as cover and camouflage. The minute Negan rushed into the woods he was yanked away by Gary, and thrown behind a tree.

An arrow embedded itself right where he’d been standing. Gary shouted something, the noise of his machine gun deafening.

“Don’t let them trap us in from behind!” Rick shouted. “That’s their plan!”

Ezekiel, brandishing his machete, roared, “You heard Rick! Don’t let them get behind us!” 

Negan broke from cover, Lucille in one hand, his handgun in the other. He fired, which resulted in a spray of read. His attackers fell — through the trees he saw Rick, and the two men locked eyes.

Rick’s eyes widened.

“Behind you—”

Negan turned. He had a split second to fire before Beta was on him, knocking his weapon away just as the trigger was pulled. The gun flew from Negan’s hand, and he raised Lucille up to defend himself from Beta’s knife.

The blade chipped away at Lucille’s wood. The impact sent Negan stumbling back. When he rightened himself, Beta was beginning to circle him like some predatory animal. The massive, hulking man didn’t seem concerned about the battle raging around him. He said nothing, just glared from beneath the hideous biter skin mask that he wore.

Negan lunged first, bringing Lucille down hard against Beta’s shoulder. The behemoth of a man roared, backhanding Negan so hard that he saw stars, though it wasn’t enough to save him from Negan’s next attack — a hard hit to the kneecap that caused him to buckle and fall.

“Fuck you!” Negan shrieked. “Fuck you,  _you fucking fuck_!”

He slammed Lucille, hard, against Beta’s back. He roared, doubled over in pain. The blow seemed fruitless so Negan tried again, hearing bone crunch as Lucille’s barbed ends ripped away his clothes. Then again.

_Again._

Then, a deafening crack. Negan’s world split, and so did Lucille — right down the center, the splinter so wide and deep that the bat hung in two pieces of tangled wire.

“Oh,” was all Negan could muster. Just a shocked stare, a brief stare. But it was enough time for Beta to roar and fall, two Whisperer’s coming to his aid and dragging him away, through the forest.

_Go after him, go after him—_

“They’re retreating!” Ezekiel hollered. “Fall back—”

Negan looked around wildly. Gavin, Rick and Arat came stumbling over, and Negan’s face paled when he saw the circular bite mark on Gavin’s forearm—

Arat was screaming, so was Laura. Yelling at Negan to do something, then at Rick. Gavin’s arm was soaked in blood and he barely had time to get out a word before a blade — Rick’s blade — sliced clean through his arm, right above the bite mark.

He screamed. Blood spewed and he collapsed into the arms of Laura and Arat.

Negan was still frozen. There was no color in Gavin’s face, his skin pallid, face drenched in sweat. His chest rose up and down before ceasing movement entirely. A switch was flipped in Negan’s brain, then, and he drew his knife so he could ensure that Gavin wouldn’t turn.

“How many did we fucking lose?” Negan croaked.

Rick, his red-handled machete dripping blood, wiped his forehead and said, “Morgan,” he ducked his head, sucking in a breath. “Some of Ezekiel’s men. We didn’t lose as many as we could have.”

“Yeah,” Negan said hollowly. Michonne appeared at Rick’s side, her own blade covered in crimson. She glanced down at Gavin’s corpse and Negan’s blood-soaked shirt.

“They got away.”

“Yeah. I fucking know they got the fuck away,” Negan let out a shaky breath, eyes zeroing in on Lucille’s shattered, wooden remains. “Fuck. Should we fucking go after them—”

“We don’t have the firepower,” Rick shook his head. “For all we know, they could be heading towards Alexandria. Or the Hilltop. We need to head back, gather what we can, and then strike. Quickly. Before they have time to strike us.”

“They wouldn’t do some stupid shit like that — they don’t have the fucking people—”

“They don’t  _need_  people.”

_Shit._

Negan ran fingers through his hair, gathering what remained of Lucille. He said to Laura and Arat, “Get Gavin’s body into the truck, and head back home.”

Laura and Arat nodded. They gestured for Gary’s help, hoisting Gavin’s corpse up and carrying it towards the vehicles. The surrounding forest bore the aftermath of a battle, bodies strewn across the dirt, occasionally jostled as Rick and Ezekiel’s people ensured that they wouldn’t turn.

“Desa is at the Hilltop,” Negan said. “I sent her there because she’s about to have a fucking baby, and our Doctor doesn’t know shit about childbirth—”

“She’ll be fine,” Michonne said, and for the first time something other than hostility was in her tone — reassurance. “She knows how to take care of herself.”

“That’s a fucking understatement. I’ll take half my fucking men to Alexandria, send the rest back for defense. Then we’ll go from there. And this time we’ll fucking end this.”

* * *

Desa’s eyes opened.

No nightmares had prompted her, this time. Sheer instinct alone always kept her alert, even in the throes of a deep sleep.

Something was wrong.

She rolled out of bed, donning her oversized jacket. She could hear noise coming from outside the small trailer she shared with Bertie and another woman, Sandra. Both women were also slowly sitting up, looking around in confusion, though not as quickly as Desa — danger wasn’t their immediate response.

Softly, Desa told them, “stay in here.”

“What’s going on?” Sandra asked. Glancing at Desa’s swollen belly, she said hastily, “Lay back down, let me go check—”

Desa opened the trailer door, and was immediately met with a gust of hot, hot air.

The trailers were on fire.

Two of them, over near the garden — they were fully ablaze, lighting up the night sky.

A dozen flaming arrows arched over the Hilltop’s wall, one embedding itself in the grass a few feet away from Desa. Most smashed through the windows of the mansion, and some landed in the bushes. The fire would spread, either way. Over near the main gate, the body of two guards lay, blackened and burned with enough arrows to make them look like crudely put together porcupines. The gate was still closed, but Desa had no doubt that, once the initial onslaught stopped, their attackers would enter.

“Oh, my God,” Sandra said from over Desa’s shoulder. She slapped a hand over her mouth while Bertie reached for the gun beneath her bed.

Desa stumbled from the trailer, despite Sandra’s pleas for her to stay. She had no weapon — Maggie hadn’t allowed her anything, not even a knife — but she pushed forward towards the mansion. Flames licked at the brick, and the interior glowed a soft orange. When she pushed through the main doors, she pulled her shirt over her mouth, tight.

“Desa!”

“Carl—”

A crash came from upstairs. The magnificent chandelier broke loose and, with a tremendous crash, erupted in a shower of glass and jewels against the ground. Carl came thundering down the stairs and practically leaped into Desa’s arms, pulling her away and back out the door.

“We — you — need to go! Now—” Carl glanced over his shoulder as Enid approached in a run. He yelled over the sound of the roaring fire, “Enid! Get everyone out—”

“Maggie and Hershel are still in there!”

Desa had only briefly spoken to Enid, nothing other than a quick introduction, but the girl oozed determination. She reached for Desa’s wrist, taking hold of it.

“I’ll go,” Carl said. “I’ll go get them. Just get everyone out, quick!”

Another volley of arrows. Desa pulled Enid behind a trailer. She saw Sandra run for cover, only to be struck in the shoulder. She screamed and fell, writhing, as Bertie stopped to help her.

Carl had disappeared back into the smoking house. Desa, placing a hand over her belly, gasped, “Enid, do you have a knife?”

“Yeah,” Enid unsheathed the weapon before yanking her own gun from its holster. She handed the blade to Desa, peering around the corner. The gates had been shoved open just a bit, allowing for humans and biters alike to enter. At first, Desa could tell the undead from the dead, until her eyes caught sight of bows and arrows and knives, glinting in the moonlight.

“There’s a small gap in the wall, behind the mansion,” Desa said quickly. “It’ll cave in easy. Go out that way.”

“Good. You’re coming with—”

“I’ve got to wait for Carl. He gave  _you_ a job,” Desa glanced around the corner again, and she could have sworn that she spotted Alpha — they all looked alike in those skins — amongst the group.

“I believe in him—”

“So do I. But I owe him,” Desa said firmly. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Enid watched her for a moment, swallowing. She waved over Bertie, who was pulling Sandra, helping her walk. Desa saw Harlan Carson running after them, Hilltop resident’s hot on his heels. Enid began leading them away as the space became flooded with Whisperer’s and biters.

“Hurry up, Carl,” Desa stayed behind cover, neck craned as she peered through the windows for any sign of movement. She heard a woman — Alpha — begin barking orders. Mixed with the sounds of fire were the groans and snarls of biters as they searched for a meal. As one turned the corner, Desa ducked as low as her belly would allow and thrust her knife through it’s head. She didn’t have enough time to pull it free before another appeared on her side, mouth descending towards her forearm. She used one hand to block the walker and another to pull her knife free, stabbing her attacker through the head with such force that she was pretty sure felt the blade graze her skin.

She glanced down at the wound, letting out a curse.

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit._

There was a flow of blood coming her her injured hand, marking her flesh with red - some of it was hers, some of it not. Desa quickly tore a strip of flesh from her dress, bandaging the wound as best as she could before readying her knife for the next oncoming biter. Desa dispatched it, and when she lifted her head she found herself staring into eyes that were very much alive.

Alpha shoved Desa against the side of the trailer, her forearm pressing hard into Desa’s neck. With a sneer, Alpha said, “You honestly thought you could run from us? That you’d be safe, here?”

Desa spat in her face. Alpha reared back, lips pulled back over her teeth. Fire raged behind her dark eyes, and she drew her knife. Very slowly she angled the blade towards Desa’s stomach.

“I’m going to cut that child out of you, and leave you to die—”

Alpha’s bald head exploded in a showering mist of red, the spray coating Desa’s face in crimson. The coppery taste flooded her mouth and she spat, wiping the blood from her skin as Alpha slumped.

Dead.

Desa looked up and saw Carl lower his gun, the barrel smoking slightly. Maggie trailed behind, Hershel in her arms. The mansion was aflame, and without a word Carl stepped over Alpha’s corpse and grabbed Desa’s wrist.

“Let’s go.

They met the remaining Hilltop resident’s in the forest. Sandra was nursing a bloody arrow wound to the shoulder, while others were burned and bleeding. None of the injuries were severe, and Desa was relieved to see that a majority of the Hilltop inhabitants had escaped.

“We’ll head to Alexandria,” Maggie said, holding her son tightly. “All of us. And we need to move quickly.”

“What if my dad and the others aren’t back yet?” Carl asked. “What if they’re still out there, fighting?”

“Then Alexandria will need reinforcement. We’ll be able to get there before the sun comes up, if we hurry—”

A dull ache began in Desa’s lower back, which quickly transformed into something else — she tried to ignore it, at first, waving it away as a cramp or soreness from her struggle with the biters, but it didn’t go away. It got worse. And worse. Until she was leaning against a tree, struggling to stand upright while Carl rushed over, concerned. Harlan Carson was close behind, offering Desa support.

“I’d better not be having the baby now—”

“It’ll depend. If these don’t stop, we’ll know,” Harlan glanced over at Maggie.

“Alexandria has medical supplies,” Maggie said. “We’ll make it work. But we need to hurry.”


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOOO so lol. I combined the last two chapters because I felt like the finale really needed to just be one long thing, because so much happens. I’m also an OCD little fucker and the thought of this fic being 46 chapters long as opposed to an even 45 legit bothers the fuck out of me. Anywho, thank you guys so so so much for this - I think this is my longest TWD fic I’ve ever written, and one of my favorites. I had such a fun time creating Desa and exploring her relationship with Negan, and everyone else. I’m super stoked with how the end turned out (I actually rewrote the finale sooo many times because I couldn’t figure out the right way to end it, but I’m glad this is what I decided on.)
> 
> Anywho, thank you guys so much for following this fic. Enjoy!

They stumbled back into Alexandria, Negan hanging towards the back. The injured were carried away, while those that remained worked on securing the gate. It was Dwight who greeted him first, looking Negan up and down and snarling, “He let you fight after all, huh?”

Gary came to Negan’s defense immediately, towering over Dwight, but Negan raised his hand to stop him. The two men sized each other up, Dwight’s eyes lingering on the bag Negan had slung over his shoulder, which held the remnants of Lucille. Before he could speak, Rick approached to stand by Dwight’s side.

“Desa is here. She came with Maggie and the others. The Whisperer’s attacked the Hilltop, burned half of it to the ground,” Rick’s eyes were hollow. “She’s in the infirmary—”

Rick only had time to point at one of the buildings, before Negan was darting towards it. He wasted no time opening the door, eyes scanning the area, which had become packed with the injured, until his eyes fell over Desa in a nearby corner, lying on a cot. She was dirty, oversized clothes covered in a thin layer of ash. She smelled of smoke and blood. As Negan approached, he scanned her body for bite marks and found none. Her hair clung to her sweat-soaked forehead, one hand clutching her belly as she gave a low groan of what Negan assumed to be pain.

“Negan?”

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?” Negan knelt, reaching for her free hand. “The baby—”

“He’s fine. More than fine, actually. He’s ready, I think,” Desa chuckled. “Harlan said that if the contractions continue, it’ll be time. I’m not going anywhere, Negan. Trust me.”

Negan sighed, nodding his head. He leaned over and pressed a kiss against her forehead, squeezing her hand. In a soft voice, he said, “Good. Fucking good. We just have to get through today, okay?”

“I’m not worried. Well, I am, but not to the extend I’d thought I’d be,” Desa swallowed, staring up at the ceiling. “I just have to have hope. More than ever. And I do. So, so much of it, “ Desa’s eyes slowly fell on the bag around Negan’s shoulder. A jagged shard of wood poked from the top, and her face fell. In a soft voice, she said, “Oh, no.”

“Don’t fucking worry about it. She went out like a fucking champ,” Negan sighed. “You got your wish. She’s gone. I…I don’t feel anything. She fucking fell apart in my hands and I don’t feel shit—”

“You loved _Lucille_. Not the bat. Her,” Desa said. “I know that you still do. You don’t need a baseball bat to prove that. You never did.”

“Fuck. Shit. I guess you’re fucking right.”

Negan kissed her again on the forehead, then once on the mouth. Out of the corner of his eye he caught someone staring, and he pulled away, eyes flickering over to a familiar face.

“Take a fucking picture, it’ll last longer.”

Daryl snorted. In a gruff voice, he said, “Rick want’s ya’. Over by the gate.”

“Be there in a fucking second.”

“ _Now._ ” 

Negan rolled his eyes, and Desa lightly touched his shoulder. “Go,” she murmured. “I’ll be fine.”

“Shit. Okay. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Once again, Negan had to tear himself away from her. It was  _agony_. Anger flared as he wondered what the fuck Rick could possibly want him for now.

He followed Daryl, picking his way through the injured. He was aware of the various caustic glances shot his way, and he welcomed them. As long as these people weren’t hostile towards Desa, he could have cared less what they thought of him. The moment he and Daryl emerged outside, Negan froze.

_“Holy shit.”_

Negan could see them through the bars of the main gate. The undead were hobbling towards Alexandria, led by an unseen desire for…well, whatever. Up on one of the watch towers, Dwight was waving his arms and pointing.

During a momentary strike of pettiness, Negan prayed that Dwight would trip and just fall face first into the oncoming herd. Of course, his wish didn’t come true, and Dwight began climbing down the tower, a sour look on his scarred face.

“How many?” Daryl grunted, hefting his crossbow over his shoulder.

“ _Thousands_ ,” Dwight’s face paled, and he shot a worried glance at Rick, who was approaching hastily. He said, “Will this gate hold, Rick?” 

“Positive,” Rick replied. “We have time to come up with a plan—”

“I can call my guys, have them rig up a truck full of stereos,” Negan said hastily. There was a tremendous crash, and the wall vibrated as thousands of bodies began pressing up against its metal surface. Over the noise, Negan shouted, “Those deadheads will follow fucking  _anything_.”

Another crash. The gate slowly began tilting forward, but held.

Rick nodded in a agreement, but Negan could see the twinge of fear in his eyes. Grimes was scared. And Negan was, too.

“It’s a plan,” Rick said.

* * *

Father Gabriel visited Desa with a bucket of water, a towel, and a sponge. The infirmary had settled down, and those that felt able had left, leaving it less crowded. This gave Gabriel some leg room, and he pulled up a chair, sitting next to Desa’s cot.

“I thought you might want some help getting the ash off your skin.”

“I  _am_  rather incapacitated at the moment,” Desa smirked, trying to sit up. She slouched back with a sigh, unable to fully pull her body into a sitting position. Gabriel steadied her.

“I’ll just do your arms and legs.”

“Thank you,” Desa huffed. She sighed as Gabriel began washing the ash and dirt from her skin, murmuring, “You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“My faith requires good acts. Besides, I have nothing personal against  _you_ ,” Gabriel murmured. He fell silent for a moment, before saying softly, “When I was trapped in that trailer with your husband…he told me about you.  _You_ were his reason for keeping me alive. He needed my help so he could get back to you.”

“Even after everything he did to your people, you trusted him?” 

“‘ _Trust_ ’ is a strong word. I  _understood._  And understanding does not equal approval.”

“I barely went to church before all this. My mother…she would make it a family event. She’d have us all get dressed up…she  _believed_. I dabbled in it, but found that it wasn’t for me,” Desa sighed. “I skipped out later on. Now it’s hard to see why I ever went in the first place. Even if all of this was planned, the end of the world,  _everything_ , I’m still going to hell.”

Gabriel raised his eyebrows, unfurling the towel and wiping the water from Desa’s skin. He said, “Why is that?”

“I’m trying to make up for what I did by bringing peace, trying to fix everything,” Desa ignored him and continued, too caught up in her own ramblings. “I know it’s useless, but I have to try. At least so I can prove to myself that I’m not the animal Alpha says that I am, and so that my child and Negan can have a good life.”

Gabriel nodded. He laced his fingers together, leaning forward. There was a warm, sincere look on his face as he said, “No matter what you are going through, the Lord is there. I turn to him in my time of need, and if you feel comfortable, I’d like to take your confession. I did the same for your husband. It’s why I was led to him, and why I believe I’ve been led to you.”

Desa raised her eyebrows. “I have things to confess. You might think less of me if I tell you of them.”

“I won’t think less of you,” Gabriel said. “I couldn’t. It would be hypocritical of me to judge you. I have my own transgressions.”

“Okay,” Desa sighed. She closed her eyes, trying to regulate her rapid breathing. A sharp contraction caused her to suck in a breath, and shakily, she said, “I…I shot my brother after he’d been lobotomized. I killed so many people out of fear…I ate human flesh. Like an animal. And I did it all without thinking, without flinching or pulling away. I did it all because I felt like I had no choice.”

“You are absolved.”

Gabriel’s face was stoic, and very slowly, he reached out to grasp Desa’s hand. In a soft voice, he added, “You and your child will be welcomed here. After all of this is over, no more will you live in fear. I promise you. You are not a hateful person. I see it in your eyes.”

“Hatred stirs up conflict, but love covers all wrongs,” Desa squeezed her eyes shut, before opening them. At Gabriel’s surprised look, she said, “My mother used to tell us that. My sister and brother and I. I forgot what that meant, for a while.”

“Your mother would be proud of who you’ve become.”

Desa smiled. He glanced away, and Desa followed his gaze to where Carl was picking his way through the room. He stopped at the edge of the cot, surveying Desa’s condition before nodding and asking, “Do you think you could make it from here to my house?”

“What?”

“This cot is too small. We need somewhere bigger for you to have the baby,” Carl placed a hand on Desa’s shoulder while Gabriel excused himself, grabbing the bucket and towel and moving out of Carl’s way. The boy said, “I mean, if you  _want_  too—”

“I’ll see if I can,” it took every muscle in Desa’s body to keep her upright. The minute her bare feet touched the cold floor she cringed, allowing Carl to drape an arm around her for support. The moment she stood upright, gravity took effect and she could feel the smallest trickle of blood slide down from between her legs. She ignored it, placing one hand on her belly and slowly, with Carl’s help, began hobbling towards the door.

“I’m sorry I’m so heavy,” Desa breathed, a bead of sweat dripping from between her eyes. They reached Rick’s house, and Desa let out a cry of pain as her insides contracted. She slouched against the stairs, slapping a hand against the railing.

“You’re pale,” Carl placed a palm against her clammy forehead. When he pulled away, he said,” Desa…”

“Just get me inside.”

Carl hoisted her up, and they entered Rick’s home. The place was empty, and Carl gently helped Desa lay against the soft carpet before retrieving a pillow and some blankets. As he draped them over her, he removed his hat and tossed it onto the couch.

A sharp, stabbing pain, worse than the others, caused Desa’s entire body to shake. She let out a hellish cry, toes curling as she lifted her knees towards the sky. Carl was next to her in a heartbeat, concern etched all over his face. Very,  _very_ slowly he lifted the blankets down by Desa’s legs, face flushed as he peered between them.

“Uh…uh…”

“Do I need to get Carson?”

“No,” Desa gasped, hand shooting out to grab Carl by the arm. “No. Don’t.”

“Negan?” 

“ _No_ —”

More pain, like a ring of fire. Desa slammed her head against the pillow, teeth clenching, face wrinkled into a grimace as she did the only thing that felt right. She  _pushed_.

“Oh, okay — oh my God,” Carl yelped.

“Carl, lift the blankets again. Keep them up and just…make sure you tell me when you see a head.”

“Wait, you’re having this baby  _now_?” Carl’s face turned even redder, and he began to fidget. “Oh, _shit_ —”

“Watch your language,” Desa grunted. She groaned again, the ring of fire returning. Once again, pushing brought relief — if only for a moment. It was a vicious cycle, made worse by the burning pain of the bandaged wound on hand. She caught Carl glancing at it, but the fact that she was pushing out a baby pulled him away. He looked incredibly uncomfortable, and the expression didn’t go away. It made it difficultly for Desa to tell the time — when they’d begun, how long she’d been pushing, and so on.  Sweat trickled down her face, moist enough that it made her hair stick to her skin.

“There’s blood, Desa,” Carl said frantically.”Uh—and I see a head. Keep going. You’re doing good.”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Is the blood supposed to be there?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Desa tried to steady her breathing, and calm her hammering heart. She pushed, hard, and the relief came. She repeated the process, again and again and again —

“Desa—”

_Crying._

There was a baby crying, voice choked and high-pitched. Through teary eyes, Desa saw Carl’s figure as he swathed the little newborn in one of the nearby blankets. He, too, was breathing heavily.

“Did you get a workout, kid?”

“Hey, I’ve never delivered a baby before,” Carl met her gaze and smiled. “I did pretty good for my first time, huh?” 

“You did,” Desa wheezed. She couldn’t lift her head — all the strength in her body had left her. There was still pain, copious amounts of pain, but it didn’t matter.

It was  _over_.

_For him, it’s just starting._

“ _Carl_ ,” Desa murmured. She lifted her injured hand, and bandages fell away, revealing the crescent shaped bite mark that was red, raw and inflamed.

“I have another job for you,” Desa breathed. Her child howled, and she couldn’t help but smile. “One last job.”

* * *

“These walls won’t hold,” Negan shouted over the roar of the undead. He and Rick backed away, each drawing their guns as the support beams began to shudder. The wall was tipping forward, like a fallen pie crust. Negan lifted his walkie to his lips, yelling, “Eugene! You’d better have those fucking stereos ready!”

 _“On it, boss,”_ Eugene’s voice crackled.  _“We’re locked and ready to go. We’ve split the subsequent herd into two groups. Ezekiel and his people are leading one away while we take on the other.”_

“Good. See you on the other fucking side,” Negan shoved the walkie into his back pocket, glancing over at Rick.

“Carl took Desa over to my house,” Rick said. “She’ll be safe there. Just focus on what’s in front of you.”

“I can multitask, Grimes,” Negan turned his attention to the biters. With a final sigh, the wall caved in. A sea of the undead began storming into Alexandria, met with ferocious gunfire from both the Saviors, and Rick’s people. “Shit. That’s a _lot_  of fucking biters—”

“Keep firing!” Rick bellow. Body after body toppled, forming heaps, corpses strewn across the grass.

Still, they didn’t stand a chance. There were too many. Their fate was entirely in the hands of Eugene and Ezekiel’s people.

_We’re so dead._

_“Get back!”_

They were split up — Rick and his people began to retreat while Negan, was forced to dart into a nearby house. Biters flooded the streets, and Negan barely had time to slam the door shut behind him. He scrambled through the empty house, towards the back and up the flight of stairs. He yanked open the first window he saw, sliding through it and onto the rooftop.

From here, he had a pretty good view of Alexandria’s expanse. He pinpointed Rick’s home, and, to his horror, saw a massive man swathed in biter skins weaving his way towards the house.

So, Negan ran and jumped. His feet hit the rooftop of the adjacent house, and he barely had time to regain his footing before he was sprinting once more, flinging himself towards the next house. And then the next. His lungs burned, and his ankles felt shattered — but he kept going until he slammed, hard, against the roof of Rick’s home. With a grunt, he hoisted himself up, fingers scrambling against the shingles. He began kicking in the upstairs window, until he was able to burst through and fall, hard, against the carpet.

 _Shit_.

He heard nothing — no talking, no recognizable voices. The silence stretched on, prompting Negan to stand and slowly draw his handgun.

Then, he heard it.

The high-pitched wail of a baby, the sound muffled as if it were coming from behind a thick door. Negan froze, halfway down the steps leading to the living room.

“Desa?” Negan hissed.

No reply.

“Desa? Carl? Where the fuck are you two,” Negan’s voice hitched as he reached the bottom of the steps, moving slowly and methodically. A shape caught his attention, over near the sofa. He took a step forward, before the baby wailed again — the noise came from one of the closets, over near the master bedroom.

_“What are you looking for?”_

Negan spun, discharging his gun at Beta’s torso as the huge man swung his fist. The blow caught Negan in the face, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. He blinked a few times to clear his vision, before reaching for his gun, only to realize that it had fallen and landed somewhere by the couch.

“Shit,” Negan cursed, pulling himself into a sitting position. Beta was clutching the oozing hole right above his hip, snarling. The wound didn’t seem to deter him, and he smiled. Not missing a beat, Negan half-pleaded, half-screamed, “Where’s Desa?”

The child cried again. Maybe it was instinct that caused the puzzle pieces in his mind to click together, one by one. He’d heard children cry before, many, many times, but this one was different.

Negan’s tongue felt huge in his mouth.

_Oh, no, no, no—_

Beta glanced towards the source of the noise, lips pressed into a thin line. He towered over Negan, before slowly drawing a pair of knives, one in each hand, from his belt.

“The boy and the child die next,” Beta said simply.

Enraged, Negan lunged. He wasn’t as big or as strong as Beta, but his momentum carried him into Beta, knocking the man off balance. They slammed, hard, against the wall — the impact shook the house and sent paintings crashing from their moorings.

A blade pierced Negan’s shoulder, but he ignored it. His anger was like a drug, shielding him from the lacerations made by Beta’s knives. When the man broke free, he delivered a hard kick to Negan’s gut. Then another that sent Negan sprawling once more. He could only gape and gasp like a fish out of water, the wind knocked completely out of his body.

The infant howled louder, and Beta spun and snarled in annoyance. Negan scrambled for his gun, only to find it missing. He crawled in front of the couch — the space was empty, the white carpet stained with patches of crimson. The blotches were wet to the touch. Beta turned the corner, knives raised and ready to deliver the final blow before Negan had a chance to retaliate.

A hole the size of a quarter was blown through Beta’s head. The bullet entered from behind, and through his eye. Chunks of hair and flesh and brain flew, and Beta toppled to one knee, mouth agape in surprise. He swung his knife, missing Negan by an inch, as he tried to hang on.

“ _Fuck you_ , asshole.”

Another gunshot. Blood burst from Beta’s neck, and he fell forward. Negan pulled himself away as Desa, skin pallid and drenched in sweat, bent over Beta and pressed the muzzle of Negan’s gun against the back of his head.

She fired for a third time, the noise muffled. Blood seeped from beneath Beta, soaking into the carpet.

Desa took a step forward, the gun slipping from her fingers. Then she collapsed, right into Negan’s arms. She went limp, barely able to keep her head up.

“Desa,” Negan squeezed her. He pressed a kiss against her damp head, and for a moment, his world seemed right. She was in his arms. Beta was dead. And very slowly, Carl was poking his head out of the closet, before emerging with an infant, swathed in cloth, in his arms. Judith followed close behind, a fearful expression on her cherub face.

Carl’s eyes were red rimmed as he slowly bypassed the couch, standing before Negan. After glancing at Beta’s corpse, he gulped, but remained silent.

“Negan,” Desa murmured. She mustered the strength to pull away, still slouched against Negan’s body. She lifted her hand, palm facing inward. “ _I’m sorry_.”

* * *

“Hatred stirs up conflict, but love covers all wrong,” Negan stared blankly at the cross before him. Well, two crosses. One belonged to Jack, the other belonged to Desa. She’d wanted to be buried by her sibling. It was right.

“There so many things we didn’t get to do. So much that we didn’t get to fucking experience together. I’m sorry. I didn’t keep you safe. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry that I fucking failed you while you were fucking alive. I won’t be who I was before. I swear on my fucking life. You made me such a better fucking man. I didn’t deserve someone like you. And now that you’re gone, and even though it’ll heal, it fucking hurts. So, so much. My heart fucking hurts. I love you, okay? I fucking love you more than anything. You’re my other fucking half, and that won’t ever change. I’m grateful for the time we had together…Jack will know how fucking brave and strong his mother was. He’ll be like his mother. I swear.”

Negan pressed a final stone against the little cluster at the foot of the wooden cross, marking her grave. He closed his eyes and breathed in the cool air.

* * *

“Don’t you dare cry, Negan,” Desa wheezed. Her uninjured palm pressed against his stubbled cheek and she caressed the skin. Negan felt as if he were in a dream, or some sort of drug trip. He wasn’t sure how present he really was.

His body felt numb.

“I’m sorry. I…Beta came in before I could…” Carl began. Desa cut him off.

“It’s okay, Carl. I told you to hide. You, Jack, and Judith are safe. That’s all that matters.”

“My son,” Negan breathed. He stared at the child in Carl’s arms, mouth opening and closing. He finally managed to croak, “That’s our son…” 

“Yeah,” Desa said wistfully. “He’s beautiful.”

“You can’t leave me,” Negan said. “You can’t. You can’t leave. I can’t…you  _can’t_ —”

“Negan—”

“Desa, baby,” Negan’s voice slipped from stoic, to pleading. Maybe if he prayed and begged the wound on her hand would disappear. “Don’t. Stay with me. Fucking please—”

“Negan, you have to let me go.”

“I can’t—”

“You _can_. I’m not scared,” Desa whispered. “Death is a part of life. It’s a journey. Sometimes it’s long, sometimes it’s short, but death is a  _journey_. You’re still traveling. We’ll meet at the end. We will. I love you so much, Negan.”

Desa was already reaching for the gun. Her fingers curled around the weapon, and with what small amount of strength she had left, she lifted it to her temple.

Negan stopped her.

“Let me do it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I’m strong enough, now. I couldn’t do it for Lucille, but I’m strong enough. I have to.”

“Always the gentlemen.”

Negan gave a teary eyed laugh. When he kissed her, he tasted her own salty tears as well. When he pulled away, she was wiping her eyes. She took Negan’s hand in her own.

“Thank you,” Negan murmured. Desa met his gaze. “Thank you for loving me. For saving me. You’re the fucking love of my life, Desa.” 

“You’re one hell of a man yourself.”

* * *

“We should head back. It’s getting dark.”

Negan opened his eyes. Carl was standing behind him, Jack asleep in his arms. Negan stood, retrieving the infant from the boy. He took one last lingering glance at Desa’s grave, knowing that he’d be back, most likely to bring flowers. Then he and Carl headed to the car, taking the time to strap Jack into his car seat in the back.

_You made peace with her. Learn to let go._

“Are you doing okay?” Carl asked. 

“I’m doing fine, kid. Just fucking fine. Your dad is going to be pissed for coming with me,” Negan smirked, sliding into the jeep. Carl sat in the passengers seat, removing his hat and letting it rest against his lap. “I’m still ‘that douchebag that lives in a factory’ to him.”

“I won’t tell him. I just…I thought you needed the moral support. You _know_  how I feel about you, but…Desa asked me to keep an eye out. Make sure you don’t make any stupid decisions.”

“She would say that,” Negan rolled his eyes. “Don’t fucking worry about me, kid. We have plenty of shit on our plate already. Biter cleanup from the herd, fixing up some of our defenses…”

“Save it. I’m still watching you.”

“Okay, yeah, fine, whatever,” From the back, Jack yawned. He made a few noises of contentment, and Negan chuckled. “We’ll be home soon, buddy. Hang in there. And please…for the love of  _God_ … _please_  don’t puke.”


End file.
